Face Value
by silverwrym
Summary: Face Value: To accept something or someone just as they appear. Reid has lived his life in the shadows, ignored and exploited for his intelligence. Is there anything out there that can help him change it for the better? Enter the BAU. This is an AU.
1. I Don't Want to Be Here Anymore

**Hi Friends!**

**I know, I know...I'm already working on a story but this idea wouldn't leave me alone. Seriously, it was haunting my dreams. So if you don't mind I'm going to try to write two at once again. Please be patient for new chapters though...real life does come first.**

***Disclaimer (applies to the whole story) = I do not own or make profits off of Criminal Minds. I'm just borrowing the characters because they are so awesome.**

***Warnings: Just angst ahoy, swearing...maybe non-con (I haven't decided on that part yet but if I do it won't be my normal graphic stuff)**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Spencer slammed his hand down on the alarm clock button, hitting the snooze in an effort to elongate his sleep for another nine minutes. The funny thing about that though, was that he was never able to fall back asleep for that short span of time. Nonetheless, it always felt so good knowing that he didn't have to crack open his warm cocoon of blankets for a few more minutes.

He closed his eyes and turned away from the clock. The young man put his hands back under the fluffy comforter and brought it up underneath his chin. As he lay there in a sleepy daze he contemplated the one thing that had been on his mind so much lately, the fact that his life sucked.

Plain and simple.

Sucked.

He cringed internally at the thought of using such an uncouth word but try as he might he couldn't think of a better term to describe his pitiful existence. Sometimes he didn't even know why he bothered to stay in this world; it wasn't like there was anything worth living for anymore.

Well, that wasn't completely true. His mother was still alive and living in the sanitarium just down the road. But besides her…there just wasn't a reason to stick around. He had no friends and no other family members. He was pretty much a solitary figure in a world of over seven billion people.

And then there was his job.

Honestly, if he had to come up with a driving factor as to why his life sucked so much it would be his job.

He was stuck in a menial low paying position at the local police station, working as the captain of the Investigative Services Division's secretary. Actually, bondservant would be a more accurate job description, especially when factoring in the measly amount of money he was given at the end of each week.

The kicker to his job was the fact that the captain was well aware of the extent of Reid's intelligence and he was exploiting it to his full advantage. Unfortunately, there was nothing Spencer could do about the man's manipulations. He had no other choice but to go along with whatever the chief said, no questions, protests, or complaints allowed.

What caused the young genius to end up in such a deplorable situation?

He groaned aloud as his mind flashed back to the Friday after his father had left him alone with his mom. The ten year old had been up early, trying to fix himself some breakfast before school when the ring of the doorbell penetrated the silent house. He cautiously approached the oak door and peered through the peephole to see who was on the other side. Spencer could remember the curiosity that was sparked in his brain when he saw his next-door neighbor standing on their front porch. He opened the door and looked up at the man, taking in his dark blue uniform and shiny badge stationed on the left hand side of his chest.

How could the prepubescent boy have known that opening a door would change the course of his life forever?

The alarm started its shrill beeping once again, forcing his mind off its current path and reminding him that he had to get up and get ready for work.

Reluctantly, he pushed his covers aside and swung his legs around to the side of the bed. His feet landed on carpet that at one time had been plush and soft but was now flattened and scuffed.

His honey-brown eyes traveled the expanse of his studio apartment taking in its shabbiness with disgust. The foundational walls were cinderblock, a throwback from before this place had been renovated from a factory into low income apartments. The only source of natural light came from the window above his bed that was so small it would barely allow him to escape through it if there were ever a fire in the building. By the entrance there was a counter that had a divided sink, a mini-fridge, a coffee pot, and a hot plate. Above the sink were two cabinets that housed his dishware and below it were two more for dry storage.

Nestled in the corner next to his "kitchen" was the bathroom that contained a stand-up shower, sink and toilet; there was no room for anything else, not even a towel bar. He had to fling the one towel he owned over the top of the shower frame to help it dry every day. His living room and bedroom were separated by a worn out green couch he bought at a garage sale a few years ago. It had a few cigarette burns in the cushions and the ruffles along the bottom were frayed, but overall it was comfortable. The TV that sat across from it was pretty useless since Spencer couldn't afford to pay a cable bill. He only kept it around to help the apartment look a little less empty and on the off chance that maybe one day he'd be able to watch it again.

The only other thing that occupied the small space was his bedroom furniture which consisted of a beautiful bed frame, nightstand, and dresser. He counted himself lucky that he had been able to procure it from his mother after she had been moved to the sanitarium. sadly, it had been the only thing he had been allowed to keep before her power of attorney had an estate sale.

He ran his hand over the smooth surface and studied its design. The headboard and footboard were made out of polished Cherrywood and had elaborate designs carved into them. It was only a standard sized frame and mattress that barely housed his long limbs, there was no way he'd ever be able to fit another body next to him. Not that he could even foresee him ever needing that extra room; he was too busy working to even think about trying to date.

He let out a scornful laugh at the mere thought of dating and pushed himself up off the mattress. He pulled out his usual subdued clothes and went to shower. The warm water helped to wake him up and it flushed the traces of last night's excursions down the drain.

Reid closed his eyes as memories of the prior night flooded his brain. Redden flesh, leather, ropes, and lube flashed through his head and he shuddered. He wasn't proud of what he had to do but there wasn't a choice. He shook himself out of the memory and finished his preparations for the day.

Around 7:00 a.m. he left his abode and walked straight to the bus station. He grabbed a coffee at the small stand near the depot and boarded the 7:30 ride that took him to the main drag of Las Vegas. The streets were already inundated with tourists, some just waking up and others on their way to sleep. The heat had yet to get to its usual stifling temperature but it was already making beads of sweat appear on Reid's forehead. He wiped his brow and took a sip of his coffee. It was funny, the hot beverage shouldn't be so enjoyable in the desert heat but the genius loved it anyways.

Spencer arrived at work at 8:00 on the dot. He stood before the glass doors and took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever the day might bring once he was on the other side.

Once his brain was in the right frame of mind, closed off and unemotional, he pulled open the barrier and stepped into the precinct.

"Hey nerd!" was shouted through the office as Reid walked past the civilian section of the office and into the officers' hub.

The lanky young man trained his gaze on the ground and ignored the man's boorish comment. The genius knew that some things in his life were never going to change and the way people viewed him was one of them. One would think that police officers would be more mature and accepting of others. Hell, their jobs were to serve and protect the citizens of the city. But that didn't matter, like every other branch of society the station had its bullies and Reid was their prime target.

"You're late, Reid," shouted an annoyed voice from an office in the back. "Put your shit down and get in here."

Spencer glanced at his watch and saw that it was now 8:02. He furrowed his brow at the accusation. He had walked through the doors on time; it had just taken him two minutes to weave through the crowd to get to his desk.

Nonetheless, he did as he was told and dropped his satchel and coffee down on the hard surface. He grabbed a pen and a notepad and steadied himself before walking into the captain's office.

"Good morning, Captain Wesley," he stated soberly, keeping his gaze aimed on the abraded tile floor.

The man scoffed at the greeting. "What time are you scheduled to be here?"

"Eight o'clock, sir."

"What time is it now?"

"It's 8:03, sir."

"Exactly. When I say 8:00 that means that you are already sitting at your desk ready for work. Not walking in the door. This is unacceptable behavior, boy."

The genius was dying to argue with the man about his arrival but knew it wouldn't do any good. "I'm sorry, sir."

"I'll just subtract it from your paycheck," the man said simply.

Reid grimaced at the statement. He wasn't paid a whole lot as it was.

"Yes, sir."

"Now, where are your earnings from last night?"

Reid grabbed his wallet and pulled out the $600 he had made. He handed the money to his boss and watched as Captain Wesley counted out the bills.

"Excellent. I've put your work on your desk and I need you to get the conference room ready for the BAU. They're on their way in to help with the recent prostitute murders."

Reid shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. The murders had been going on for a while now but it wasn't until recently that anyone had bother to pay attention. Apparently the lives of the men and women selling themselves on the street weren't important until one of them turned out to be the daughter of a local politician. Now all eyes were on the LVPD, homicide division specifically, waiting to see if they could catch the serial murderer.

"Make sure when they get here you keep your mouth shut about everything you know and you will keep your head down. You're a lousy liar, boy, and I don't need them weaseling the truth out of you. So, the sooner we get them out of here the better. I've got too much shit to take care of without having to worry about them investigating this mess and you spilling the beans. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," he said meekly.

"Good. Now get to work," Wesley said, dismissing the youth.

Spencer was on his way out the door when the captain called out to him, "Oh and Spencer, you're on again tonight. I expect the same amount out of you as last night."

Reid spun around and looked up at the man with wide eyes, "But sir, I didn't get home until 3:30 this morning and I'm running on about three hours of sleep. Plus all of the files I have to –"

"Did I ask you for excuses?" the man questioned sternly.

Reid dropped his stare and said submissively, "No, sir."

"Exactly. Now you know what the consequence will be if you don't follow orders, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, I'm sure your mother would miss you if you didn't show up for your weekly visits over the next two months. Now get out of my sight," the captain said as he sat down at his own desk and picked up the phone.

Reid quickly exited the office before Wesley could add another nail to his coffin. The exhaustion he was feeling was slamming into him at full force and the thought of having to spend another night walking the streets made him feel sick.

He sat down in his squeaky chair and threw his head in his hands. God, he didn't know why he was here anymore. He'd give anything for his life to just be over.

* * *

**Anyone on board?**


	2. First Impressions

**Hi Friends!  
**

**Oh my goodness! I never expected the response I got from the first chapter! You guys are amazing! Thank you so much for your reviews, follows, and favorites. It's crazy how a little seed of an idea has spouted into something you are all willing to take a chance on. Thank you again!**

**AN: Since this is an AU I get the pleasure of hand-selecting which members I want on the team, so I chose to go with Rossi and Prentiss in addition to the normal characters. I never was a big fan of Gideon and come on...who wouldn't pick Emily. Just wanted to give you that heads up before anyone said that Rossi and Prentiss weren't around when Reid joined the team.**

**Please forgive my mistakes, it late and I'm sure I missed something.**

**Italics=Flashback**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Spencer looked up at the intimidating man that towered above him, "Good morning, Officer Wesley."_

"_Good morning, Spencer," he said, his eyes scrutinizing the part of the house he could see behind the open door._

_There was an awkward silence between the two until the man finally asked, "Is your mom available?"_

_Spencer gulped down the dread that stirred in his stomach at the question; he couldn't let the officer think that there was anything wrong in his household. "No, sir. She's still in bed. I can tell her you stopped by if you'd like, though..."_

_Officer Wesley squinted his eyes in thought before a small smile played on his lips. "No, that won't be necessary, son." The little boy's wince at his use of the term of endearment didn't go unnoticed by the man. "I'm actually here to see you."_

_Spencer's brow furrowed in confusion. "Me?"_

"_Yeah, you. Look why don't you let me drive you to school today. I've got my patrol car. Wouldn't the other kids be jealous of you getting police escort to school?"_

"_No thank you," the little boy answered immediately. There was no way his high school bullies would be impressed by him arriving in a squad car. In fact, it would only give them another reason to tease him._

"_Oh, wow…you must be the first kid to ever refuse a ride. You sure you don't want a chance to turn on the siren and lights?" the officer asked, his interest in the kid further piqued._

"_I'll be alright walking. Th-thanks though."_

"…_well, alrighty then. Why don't we just have a seat here on the porch? I won't take too much of your time. I promise," Wesley said, settling on the ledge of the cement and patting the spot next to him._

_Gingerly, Spencer sat cross-legged next to him, "W-what do you want to talk about?"_

"_Well, Spencer…Did you know that your father and I were pretty good friends?_

_The brown mop of curls shook back and forth, signaling his ignorance._

"_Well, we are. He used to come over my house sometimes late at night and share a beer or two with me. We'd talk about our lives and our families. And lately your daddy was telling me about your mom and her illness in particular. He told me how he was getting frustrated with her not taking care of herself and how he didn't know how to help her anymore. He also mentioned how wonderful you are with her and how she listens to you. He even mentioned how intelligent you are and that you'll be graduating high school in two years."_

_The little Reid allowed his hair to fall in front of his face as he rocked his body back and forth. He didn't like the direction that this conversation was taking._

"…_Spencer…he told me alot of things about you guys. And that's why I'm here. Because I know that your daddy left you and your mom earlier this week."_

_Spencer ceased his rocking and blanched at the man's blunt statement. He could feel the color draining from his face as images of him being dragged out of the house by social workers infiltrated his mind._

_The officer placed one of his fleshy hands on the boy's shaking right knee. "Now I know what you're thinking…and stop. I'm not interested in turning you and your mother into the authorities."_

_Amazed, Spencer turned his wide brown eyes to his neighbor, "Y-your not?"_

"_No, not at all. What would doing something like that accomplish? Nothing really. It would just tear apart what's left of a good family. No…I couldn't do something like that to you two. Especially because it's not your fault that your daddy left. Why should you be the one to suffer the consequences for his cowardly actions?"_

_The man paused for a moment and squeezed the boy's limb, "But I am concerned…"_

"_About what?" the kid whispered, wiping at the globs of saltwater that were trailing down his cheeks._

"_How are you two going to survive? Do you have money Spencer? How are you going to pay for the house and all the bills? It's been a week since your daddy left. Do you need groceries yet?"_

"_I-w-we…have some money…"_

"_But is it enough to live off of for the next six years until you are able to get a job?"_

"_I-I…I haven't sat down to fully budget it yet," the kid admitted, his lip quivering with worry._

_Officer Wesley tsked his tongue, "And you know what Spencer? No ten year old should have to worry about budgets or having enough food in the house. But again, this wasn't your choice…it was your dad's. So now you are have to grow up alot faster than other kids your age; you have more responsibilities. You've gotta take care of your mom and yourself while still going to school and getting good grades. Have you thought about how you're going to do that?"_

"_No," he said quietly._

"_Well, I have a proposition for you, Spencer. If you're as smart as your father said you are…I was wondering if you would like to come and work for me?"_

_The little boy looked up at the man and couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was this the solution to the problems that had kept the younger Reid awake every night over the past week?_

"_What type of work?"_

_Officer Wesley's face shined, knowing that he had successfully laid his trap for the young man. "Well…"_

* * *

"Are you planning on fucking working today string bean?" taunted a detective as he slammed down a pile of at least ten folders on Reid's desk.

Spencer was immediately jolted out of his memory, his heart beating a mile a minute at the rude awakening. "W-what?"

"Are you going to do some real work today or are you just going to sleep at your desk?" the man asked again, shoving the manila folders in front of the genius.

Reid peered up at the detective and recognized one of Captain Wesley's goons, Detective Cox. "I wasn't sleeping," he defended indignantly.

"Right…I don't think the captain will like hearing that you were neglecting your duties," Cox said smugly.

"I wa-"

"Whatever. Here, I need these finished and turned in to the captain before you leave for your other job tonight," the man ordered using air quotations when he said the word "job."

Reid scowled at the man's subtle jab at his nighttime excursions. Detective Cox was among the few men privy to Spencer's unique situation. The men in that exclusive group consisted of the five detectives that reported to Wesley and they all helped him run his side business under the radar of the other law enforcement officers.

Honestly, Reid knew that the captain had developed a pretty ingenious system. Over the years, as he rose in rank through the force, he was able to create a lucrative prostitution ring which garnered an obscene amount of money. The business had gotten so big that he had to recruit his subordinates into running it with him, which they eagerly agreed to when they saw how much cash was involved.

The ring was now the second most profitable one in the city and it was currently undergoing a turf war with its rival. Consequently, the battle had started to accumulate casualties; namely, the murdered prostitutes that the F.B.I. was coming to investigate.

Of course, it wasn't Captain Wesley that decided to call the feds in. Hence the apprehension he felt oozing off the man when he was giving Reid directions earlier. No, the decision to call in the BAU was made by Wesley's boss, the deputy chief, after the story started gaining attention on the news. Once that order had been issued by the higher ranking man there was no way that Wesley could refuse the demand.

"Well, you're going to have to finish them yourself. The F.B.I. is coming to investigate the prostitute murders and I've got to prepare the conference room and finish Captain Wesley's files before my shift is over."

"I don't think so, genius. The Captain told me to give these to you to complete because I have more important things to do than sit on my ass writing out case notes. Anyways, we both know that the only reason you're here is to do our grunt work…so do it," Cox sneered before his features took on a happier tone. "Oh and Captain Wesley also said that I could borrow your services later as payment for a favor I did him the other day. I'll be around later to collect…"

Reid's mouth was agape at the added information. It was just lately that Wesley had been using him for payment with his cronies. The young man shivered with disgust and rubbed his hand along his arm. Was this life of degradation ever going to end? Perhaps he could use the arrival of the F.B.I. to his advantage...

No! Reid shook that pipedream out of his head immediately. He couldn't turn Wesley and his men in because he would be implicated along with everyone else. There was no way that the captain would allow Reid to get off scot-free while he rotted in jail. The man had too much on him and he would manipulate the information to make it look like Reid was the ring-leader in the first place. In the end, Spencer would just be trading one prison for another.

He was stuck.

He was just going to have to tip-toe his way around the F.B.I. agents and find a different way to get out of his current situation. Preferably a more permanent way out…when he was ready that is.

The young man looked down at his delicate wrists and analyzed the veins showing through his papery thin skin. He was pretty miserable but was he that desperate yet?

"_I'll be around later to collect…"_

Yes.

Yes, he was.

* * *

Spencer sneezed as he placed hard copied files down onto the conference table. There was a ton of dust in the air due to the spring cleaning that Reid had just completed in the room that had been doubling as a supply closet for all of the department's archaic items like file cabinets filled with old carbon copies of files, obsolete research tomes, and a microfiche reader.

It had taken the secretary over three hours to overhaul the room and turn it into an acceptable work space for the F.B.I. agents. None of this would have been necessary if his boss had utilized one of the normal conference rooms. But of course, the captain had decided to shove the BAU in here because it was the closest one to his office and he hoped to overhear the agents discussing the case.

Reid set the final file down and turned to look at his accomplishment. The room was hardly modern in any sense but it now looked spic and span. He had pushed the full file cabinets against a wall, piled the books on the windowsill and removed the spare hardware. He hauled in chairs and placed them around the table, positioned a small table with snacks and a coffee pot off in the corner, and wheeled in an evidence board. His final touch was the speaker phone that he hooked up in the center of the table for the agents to use at will.

He was just about to go and get some extra legal pads and pens when the door slammed open.

"Goddamnit Reid! Didn't you hear me calling you?" Captain Wesley shouted angrily.

The boy jumped a mile and turned around with his hand over his heart. He could feel it fluttering from the man's surprise entrance. "N-no Sir."

"You must be deaf, boy."

Reid longed to correct the man and tell him the he obviously was not hearing impaired and that this particular conference room was sound proof. A fact he found amusing considering Wesley's plans to try to hear the profilers' musings concerning the case would be thwarted. But instead of spilling his secret he held his tongue and kept that little tidbit to himself. He had been taught many years ago that Wesley was not tolerant of Reid correcting him, even if the information the boy held would be beneficial to the man's ambitions.

"If you weren't so damn useful I would have kicked you to the streets ages ago," Wesley continued to rant.

Hesitantly, Spencer interrupted, "You needed something, Sir?"

"What? Yeah, the agents are on their way here. Go wait at the door and greet them when they come in. Then bring them back here and get them settled. Tell them I'll be with them as soon as I can but I'm a busy man. You prepared the files, right?"

"Yes, Sir. I already set them out for their arrival."

"Good. When you're done with all that you have at least two piles of case files to finish up for me and the other detectives."

Reid nodded his understanding while exhaustion started tugging at the corners of his eyes. His late night was finally catching up with him.

"Oh, and don't forget you that I expect you at your post by ten tonight. We need to start making up the money we've lost since this stupid turf war with Luthor started. Why the man decided he needed to encroach upon my territory is beyond me. But whatever, there's always going to be more girls to take the place of the ones we've lost and until I find our replacements I always have you," the man shrugged nonchalantly as he reached up and smacked Reid's cheek in a patronizing gesture.

The genius cringed away from the man's touch which earned him a vicious hit that split his lip. "Don't pull away from me, son."

Reid didn't know what had gotten into him but before he knew it he was spitting some blood in the captains direction and spouted vehemently, "Don't call me son."

Wesley stepped out of the way of the spittle and started laughing, "Touched a sore spot there, sport? Doesn't matter what I call you; son, bitch, whore," the older man reached up and grabbed Spencer's jaw with a vicelike grip, "I still own you and your mother. And you'll do what I say until you grow out of your usefulness…and then I'll probably just kill you."

The genius gritted his teeth and tore his chin free of the captain's meaty paw.

"Damnit, you made me mar the merchandise. I still expect you to meet your quota regardless," Captain Wesley mocked with a smug grin.

Reid, aggravated to no end, aimed a fierce glare at Wesley as he put a hand up to his mouth and left the room. On his way to the front he stopped in the bathroom and staunched the blood flow from his lip with a moist paper towel.

Before he exited the solitude of the restroom he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His face looked gaunt and there were purple shadows surrounding his globular brown eyes. Reid's lip was now swollen with an angry red cut down the center. As he looked closer he could see the formation of a bruise where Wesley's thumb had squeezed his jaw too hard. Knowing that there was nothing he could do to hide the abuse he steadied his gaze on the floor and walked to the front to meet the profilers.

* * *

Hotch lead his team into the station and stopped at the receptionist's desk. The curly haired woman seemed surprised to hear that the F.B.I. was there and was about to call and inquire with her superior about where to lead them when a lanky young man stepped forth and said, "I got this Jolene."

The Supervisory Special Agent switched his attention to the young man. The boy had a mop of curly hair that was cordoned off to the top of his head. The sides were clean shaven and smooth, giving the kid a more youthful appeal. He was wearing something straight out of a professor's closet; khaki pants, blue dress shirt, navy sweater and tie. He was as thin as a rail and his eyes had a haunted look about them. There were also faint bruises littering the boy's milky white complexion and his lip was freshly split. The agent didn't need to be a profiler to know that this young man was carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders and needed help coping with it.

Unfortunately, they weren't here to worry about the inner workings of some random kid and they needed to get down to business before another innocent life was taken. "Captain Wesley?" Hotch asked.

"Oh-ah…no. I'm Spencer Reid, his assistant," the boy said nervously, looking at a spot on the wall instead of the profilers. "I-ah…I'm supposed to take you to the conference room to get settled in."

"Lead the way," Aaron said simply, a man of few words.

Spencer spun around and trudged them through the maze of desks. He accidently bumped into an officer as he guided them and Hotch heard a rude, "God, now I'll need shots," come from the offended detective's lips.

Aaron watched as Reid's ears flushed red at the tips. The boy seemed to shrink in on himself in defense, blocking his body from others by wrapping his arms around his abdomen for the rest of the walk.

The secretary walked them into Conference Room 4 and said, "Captain Wesley said he would be with you as soon as he can. I-I left you copies of all our notes in the files on the table. There's coffee and snacks on the table over there and the evidence board is ready for use. P-please let me know if you need anything else. My desk is right out the door way." Reid pointed at the rickety old desk piled with papers on it.

Hotch stepped forth and offered his hand to the young man. He was surprised when the other pulled his out of reach and gave him a soft wave. Undeterred by the young one's eccentric tendency he said, "Thank you. I'm Aaron Hotchner and this is my team. Will you please tell your captain that his presence is required immediately?"

Spencer started to stutter in response, "I-I would but-bu-"

"Spencer! Why didn't you tell me the agents had arrived?" boomed Wesley's jovial voice through the room.

The profilers all turned toward the voice and took in a tall man with a buzz cut. He had a severe countenance and the muscles of a body builder. Clearly the man felt that looks were important for his uniform was in impeccable shape and his shoes were so shiny they could blind you with the light they reflected.

"I-I-"

"Never mind…I sincerely apologize for Reid's rudeness. I would have greeted you personally if I had known you were here. I'm Captain Wesley, and I'm in charge of this investigation." The officer put his hand out and Hotch grasped it in a tight grip.

"Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. This is my team, SSA Derek Morgan, SSA Jennifer Jareau, Senior Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi, and SSA Emily Prentiss. We will also be coordinating with our technical analyst Penelope Garcia back in Quantico."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all. I hope these accommodations are suitable but please if you need anything don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you. This room is fine. We'll be getting to work immediately."

"Excellent. I'll be in my office if you need anything else."

"Actually, Captain Wesley, I do have a question for you before you go," Rossi piped up, waving a file at the other man. He had taken it upon himself to peruse the proffered information while Hotchner had been talking to the officer.

"I'll see if I have an answer," Wesley said in what was supposed to be a charming manner.

Dave, not fooled by this man's smarmy behavior, raised an eyebrow up high, "Well I hope you have an answer for this."

"Dave?" Hotch questioned.

Rossi held up his hand, signaling to Hotch that he knew what he was doing, "I was just wondering, Captain, why this case file has three extra victims."

Wesley's face paled, "W-what?"

Dave held up three pictures, "We were never sent any information on these girls. Why weren't they brought to our attention before?"

"I-I, Reid? You put the files together. Would you care to explain why the agents were given unrelated cases?"

Hotch watched as the young man's eyes were consumed with panic. "…I-I…I must have made a mistake. I'm sorry, sir. I'll just remove them from the files so they don't get in the way."

The boy moved toward the other folders on the table but was stopped by Rossi's voice, "Oh, that won't be necessary, son. Your mistake seems to be anything but. These girls all seem to fit the pattern and will definitely help us shed some more light on the profile."

"Agent Rossi, I've been working this case for the past few weeks. I can assure you those girls have nothing to do with this investigation. It was just an error on my subordinate's part…one that I'm sure won't happen again. So if you would please give Spencer back the files we will leave you to it."

Rossi was about to respond when Aaron stepped forth and took charge of the situation, "I'm sure, Captain, that you know a fresh pair of eyes can do wonders when looking at evidence. My team will look over these new victims, mistakes or not, and we will decide whether or not we think their related to the case. Thank you for all your help and we'll let you know if we need anything further.

The man sputtered out a few incoherent words before his face fell in defeat, "Of course. We'll get out of your hair now. Reid, I need to see you in my office immediately."

Hotch didn't respond as he observed the captain and his assistant exit the room. There was something off about the two of them.

"Nice catch, Rossi," Morgan said, his eyes following the local officer on his way to his office with his subordinate in tow. "Anyone else get a funky feeling off of those two?"

"Yeah, but it's not something that we need to worry about right now," Hotch said, grabbing his own copy of the case file. "Alright, let's get started."


	3. Puzzles

**Hi Friends!**

**Sorry for the long wait and thanks for your patience.**

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**Please forgive/ignore any mistakes. I feel horrible right now...stupid cold...and I'm sure the NyQuil has messed with my editing abilities.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Reid warily walked behind Captain Wesley, reluctantly following him to his office. This was going to be bad and he knew it.

The door was already open and waiting for Reid to enter. He gingerly walked into the room behind the man and noted that the blinds were already closed. Actually, he had never seen them open. The captain once said that keeping them open was like living in a fishbowl and that if he wanted people to know what he was doing he would give them a memo.

"Shut the door," Wesley ordered, his back still to the younger man.

Reid did as instructed and gently shut the barrier. He was in the middle of turning back around when a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved him violently into the closed door.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" the captain said furiously.

"I-I…"

The man's grip on his shoulder tightened as his fingers curled in on Reid's skin almost like they were intent upon puncturing it.

"I-I w-was just following your orders," he managed to squeak out.

"My orders! My orders! You're seriously blaming your fuck up on me?"

"N-no, sir. I-it's just that you said to get the files ready for the F.B.I. and I did. Y-you didn't tell me not to include –"

"You can't seriously tell me that you thought I would want my girls included in their investigation. I told you this morning that I didn't want to have to worry about them sticking their noses into my business," Wesley paused his tirade for a moment, thinking something through. Reid watched as his eyes squinted in anger at whatever thought had just popped into his mind.

Without warning Wesley's free hand shot up and encircled Reid's neck, "You aren't trying to sabotage me, are you boy?"

"W-what? No, sir."

The captain's hand started squeezing the young man's lean neck, "Are you sure about that? You wouldn't be getting any stupid ideas in your head now that the Federal Agents are here? Because you've got another thing coming if you think they're going to help a fucked up piece of shit like you out." At the end of his sentence, Wesley jerked Reid back by his neck and slammed him into the door again.

Reid's eye grew wide when he felt the grip on his fragile neck tighten just a little bit more. The squeezing sensation sent his brain into a tizzy, causing him to bring his hands up in order to attempt to pry Captain Wesley's vicelike grip from around his throat. The powerful man didn't even flinch as the boy's weak willowy fingers clawed at his meaty flesh.

"Don't forget that I hold all the cards here. And if you are even thinking about screwing me over I'll make your current pitiful existence look like a pleasure cruise. Do. You. Get. Me?" he sneered, crushing the heel of his palm against the boy's windpipe as he thrust him into the door with each of his last four words.

His brown eyes were tightly clenched as he felt his back hit the door over and over. Silently, he wished that someone would hear the captain assaulting him and put a stop to it, but he knew it wasn't likely.

When his vision started to go black at the edges his mind began to panic. Of course, he knew deep down that he was too valuable right now for Captain Wesley to actually kill him but that information didn't silence the alarm bells that were ringing their distressful tone in his mind.

"Well? Do you get me?" the captain barked again.

The pressure around his throat lessened slightly and Reid was able to pull in a breath, "Y-yes, s-s-sir."

"Good. Now you if those fucking profilers ask you any more questions about those files tell them to come and talk to me. Tell them that you're just my fucking assistant and you don't know shit about police work."

"Y-yes, sir."

"And one more thing –"

A knock on the door behind Reid's head interrupted Wesley's next statement. "The damn building better be on fire. I'm fucking in the middle of something," he growled at whoever was on the other side.

"Captain Wesley, it's Agent Hotchner. We need to speak about these new victims."

Wesley released his crushing grip on Reid's neck and backed up a step. "Just a moment agent," he called through the door. "Fix yourself the fuck up and get out of here," he directed as he went to sit behind his massive desk.

Reid ran a few shaking fingers through is hair and tucked in his shirt where it had escaped from his waistband. He then had to straighten his collar and tie before he reached for the knob and opened the door, revealing the intimidating agent waiting behind it.

"Excuse me, sir," he mumbled as he stepped around the Unit Chief on his way out the door.

The F.B.I. agent remained silent and stepped out of the assistant's way, giving him room to exit the office. Reid kept his eyes averted down toward the floor and hurried back to his desk.

Behind him he heard Captain Wesley call out with a small laugh, "Agent Hotchner, I'm sorry for that outburst. I'm sure you know how it is when you have to reprimand one of your own."

Surprisingly, Spencer didn't hear a response from the formidable looking agent. It was the man's icy silence that compelled him to turn around to see what was happening behind him. He immediately took in the fact that the Unit Chief had yet to fully enter Wesley's office. Instead he had his hard brown eyes trained on Reid, intently staring as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle of some sort.

The two stood staring at each other for a moment before the captain's voice broke the moment, "Please come on in, agent."

Agent Hotchner did as the man bade, leaving Reid feeling breathless at their wordless interaction.

After the profiler had disappeared into Wesley's office, the lanky man allowed his body to collapse in his swivel chair and massaged his tender neck. Unfortunately, no matter how much he rubbed it he could still feel the phantom grip of Wesley's hand.

* * *

Reid allowed himself a few minutes of respite to get his head back in working order. He decided that he would finish as much as he could before five and then cut out early to go see his mother. For he knew that Wesley wasn't likely to let today's events go unpunished and he probably wouldn't be visiting her for quite a long time.

By two o'clock the genius had demolished a whole pile of casefiles. His fingers were aching from all the typing and his eyes were burning from looking at the computer screen for hours. Groaning, he pushed back his chair and took a precursory look around the office before getting up to get a cup of coffee.

The door to Wesley's office was wide open but he wasn't in there, having stepped out earlier with Detective Cox to go get lunch. Reid directed his gaze around the rest of the precinct and saw that the captain's other cronies weren't anywhere to be seen. A sense of relief flowed through him once he realized that he would be able to get up and move around without someone harassing him.

The genius quickly got up and made his way to the break room. He was happy to see that there was some of his favorite caffeinated beverage still in the pot. Although once he got closer to the brew he noticed that it had a sludgy appearance indicative of a pot that it had been brewed hours ago and since then it had been simmering in the glass container. The coffee's syrupy appearance didn't stop Reid though. All that mattered to him right now was getting some caffeine into his body to help him power through the rest of his work day.

He reached up into the cabinet above the pot and pushed the canisters of dry creamer that no one used aside, revealing his hidden stash of pure cane sugar behind them. People often mistook him for coffee connoisseur but for Spencer it was really the sugar that made all the difference, namely raw sugar. He adored the stuff ever since he was a little kid and his mother let him sprinkle it on his cereal in the morning.

He took his guilty pleasure down out of the cabinet and added the crystalline cubes to the coffee-like muck that was occupying his mug. Once he was satisfied with the amount of sweetener added, he swirled a stirrer around the perimeter of the mug and took his first sip, humming in satisfaction at the perfectly sugared beverage.

Reid stood in the break room for a few minutes enjoying his coffee until some officers came in to get some of sludge of their own. With his downtime sufficiently interrupted, the genius had no other option than to go back to his desk and continue on with his work.

The genius kept his head down all the way back to his seat. He really wasn't interested in attracting anyone's attention and found lack of eye contact a wonderful way to go undetected in a crowd.

Unfortunately, his downward gaze was the reason why a few seconds later he was cleaning up a puddle of coffee and mug shards up off the ground and David Rossi's Italian leather boots.

"I-I'm s-o sorry, sir. I-I wasn't expecting to see you – uh…I didn't see you," Reid sputtered from his hands and knees on the floor, wiping tissues across the surface in a futile attempt to clean up his spill.

"It's no bother, son. I needed an excuse to get a new pair anyways," the older man said, joining the boy on the floor with his own wad of Kleenex.

"Please, I-I'll get it. I-it was my fault," Reid said, embarrassed that the legendary profiler was trying to clean up his mess.

"Nonsense. Besides, my nonna would throw a fit if she knew I caused such a disaster and didn't help pick it up," the man admonished as he picked up ceramic shards.

When the mess was completely eradicated the two men stood up and finally faced each other. Spencer, feeling a mix of emotions ranging from unease to awe, was at a loss for what the agent could have possibly been doing at his desk. "Uh…did you need something, sir? I-I mean…I-I know that you must have needed something…but if it's Captain Wesley…he..uh…he's out to lunch with one of our detectives. Do you want me to give him a message from you?"

David Rossi held up his hand, hoping to stop the boy's nervous speech, "Actually, I wasn't here to see your captain. I was waiting for you."

"Me?" the youth asked doubtfully. "Why?"

"Well, you were the one that put those extra victims into our files correct?" David asked, taking a seat on the one clear corner of Reid's desk.

Spencer felt his face pale at the question, "I-I…uh…yeah. I'm really sorry about that. I didn't mean to mess up your investigation. I-I can take back those extra pages if you need me to."

Agent Rossi didn't seem to be listening to Reid's fumbling words. Instead he was thumbing through the file that Spencer had left open on his desk, "Hmm, this is an interesting write-up. It's very insightful and utilizes the evidence in such a logical way that one cannot argue against its conclusion."

The lanky genius fiddled with his fingers, longing to reach out and snatch the folder out of the older man's hands. "What can I help you with Agent Rossi?" he asked, trying to divert the Italian's attention away from his hard work.

Undeterred by the boy's question, Rossi picked up another file off of Spencer's completed stack. "Tell me, do you do all of your captain's files for him?"

"…w-why w-would you think that?"

David Rossi looked up at the boy and flashed a small smirk at him, "For one thing…both of these reports are filled out in your handwriting; which, by the way, also matches the copied files on the extra victims that you gave us. In fact, I'd wager that every single file submitted by Captain Wesley since you started working here matches your handwriting."

Spencer knew that the famous profiler had him backed into a corner. "…well…uh…well…I am the captain's assistant and sometimes he gives me his finished files to revise and edit before they're submitted to the Deputy Chief."

Rossi sighed and reached over and grabbed another pile off the file, "Alright, I'll give you that. But what about this file that is signed right here by," the older man squinted at the sloppy signature at the bottom of the form, "Detective Cox. Care to explain to me why this is written by you too?"

Unable to maintain his cool, Reid reached out and snatched the casefile out of the agent's hand. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he avowed.

The profiler finally stood up from his perch and took a step toward the assistant. "Come on, son. There's no use in hiding it. Honestly, I don't even need the handwriting for my proof. I can just tell it based on how you're behaving."

Spencer bit his lip and looked away, ashamed that his body was betraying his secret.

"Well that and the fact that earlier when Agent Hotchner went to speak to Captain Wesley about the extra victims he didn't know a single thing about them. Tell me, what type of police officers don't know anything about their own cases?" Rossi paused, waiting to see if Spencer would respond. When the youth didn't answer he went ahead and did it for him, "Ones that don't have any interaction with their casework whatsoever. How long have you been carrying this department, kiddo?"

"I-I'm just an assistant. If you need any help with the case you'll need to talk to Captain Wesley," Reid directed, wishing he could just tell the experienced profiler what he wanted to hear. Those girls had been his co-workers, so to speak, and they didn't deserve to die just because two pimps decided to have a pissing contest.

"He's got you well trained, hasn't he?" Rossi stated sourly. "Look, why don't we start with an easy, non-incriminating question? You were the one that put the files together on Captain Wesley's orders. He didn't give you specifics, he just told you to get them ready for us. When you were going through the information pertaining to the case what made you decide to add those three girls into the file? What was it about their murders that made you think they were connected to the rest? And don't just say because they were prostitutes because even though I was only able to look at your work briefly I can tell that you're good at recognizing patterns and tying them into the evidence."

Reid couldn't help the rush of pride the flowed through him at the veteran profiler's compliment. He had never received positive recognition for his work before and it felt good to be appreciated.

The genius took a few seconds to think about Rossi's question. What he was asking wasn't going to give away the fact that Captain Wesley was running a prostitution ring right under everyone's noses. Anyways, Spencer couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to impress the distinguished profiler again.

He brought his hand up and began to rub his aching neck; the sore spot was an unfortunate reminder of what could happen if Wesley found out he was defying a direct order. "I really can't say," Spencer started, stopping when he saw the look of disappointment in the grizzled Italian's face. "I-I…uh…mean…that is…I can't pinpoint what stood out the most about their murders. It was either-"

"Spencer!" thundered Wesley's voice from across the room. "I need those revised reports on my desk in ten minutes. Goddamnit boy, I leave for a quick lunch and I come back to find you bothering _the_ David Rossi. Do you even know whose time it is you're wasting?"

"Now captain," Rossi said, holding up his hand to stop the man's from scolding the boy further, "you've got it all wrong. I was the one bothering your fine young assistant here."

Wesley's mouth hung open at the profiler's intervention.

Rossi grinned his patented cheeky smile, knowing that the high ranking officer had no leg to stand on now. "Yeah, I noticed this crossword puzzle sitting on his desk and I couldn't help but ask him if he knew the answers to a few clues that had been hounding me for weeks."

Spencer was just as shocked as Captain Wesley was when the profiler pulled out the puzzle that Reid had been hiding under his keyboard the past few days. He had always enjoyed challenging himself with the daily crosswords but he was usually too busy at work to finish them in one sitting. So, instead of just giving up his hobby he would hide it on his desk and jot down a word or two in between tasks.

Wesley, a little perturbed that the agent was covering for Reid, turned toward Spencer. "Really? Like what?"

"A ten letter word for mysterious and obscure," David was quick to supply.

"Cabalistic," Reid announced without hesitation.

"Never heard of it," Wesley growled, ruffled at their seamless excuse. "Now, I'm glad he could help you Agent Rossi, but if you don't mind he's got alot of work to do and the day is getting shorter as we speak."

David didn't deign to respond to the man's rude tone, simply choosing instead to address Spencer. "Thanks again, kiddo. If you remember any more of those answers, you know where to find me," he said with a wink before walking back to the conference room.

"What the hell was that really about?" the captain asked the second the door the profilers' room closed.

"I-I don't know, sir. He was just standing here when I got back from getting a cup of coffee. He started asking me about a few clues and then you showed up," Reid lied.

Wesley looked Reid up and down as if to ferret out the fib he was sure the boy was telling. "Right…just get the fuck back to work."

Spencer stayed standing in his spot until Captain Wesley left his vicinity. Once he was sure he was alone he let out a whoosh of air that he hadn't even realized he had been holding in. "That was way too close," he muttered to himself, unsure as to whether he was referring to the fact that he almost gave the profiler some sensitive information or that Captain Wesley almost caught him in the act of doing it.

He just needed to steer clear of everyone from now on and keep his head down for a little while longer.

Spencer found his gaze wandering over to the conference room that housed the F.B.I. agents. He looked through the window that exposed the agents to the rest of the precinct and felt a little jealous. The five of them were in the middle of an avid conversation, gesticulating and talking with enthusiasm. He could tell they were deeply invested in what they were doing and actually cared about their job. It was such a contrast to what he witnessed here day in and day out. Just by the evidence board alone he could tell that they were serious about what they were doing. It was fascinating how they were able to plaster it with all photos, printouts, and actual evidence in the short time that they had been here.

Spencer sighed forlornly. He really found their job so interesting and wondered if the cards he had been dealt would have been different, could he have ended up among them? Would they have welcomed him onto their team as an equal? Would they have valued his knowledge instead of exploit it? Would they have understood his personality and accepted him for who he was?

The scream of an arrested drunkard startled him out of his musing, causing him to scoff at himself for even entertaining the idea of him ever joining the F.B.I., let alone becoming a profiler.

Who was he kidding?

He wasn't destined for such good fortune. It just wasn't meant to be.

* * *

**So this chapter was supposed to have a scene with Diana and Reid but it didn't make it...but it will be in the next chapter. It will give you more insight into the hold that Wesley has over Reid. There will also be at least one scene with the other profilers discussing Reid and the case too.**

**See you soon!**


	4. Promises

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks so much for your encouraging words and add, follows, and favorites! You guys are awesome and know how to make a girl feel good about her writing.**

**Please forgive/ignore any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Rossi closed the conference room door behind him and looked straight at Hotch, "We were right. The kid definitely knows something."

Emily, who had just gotten back from the M.E.'s office with Morgan, popped her head up from the file she was reading and asked, "Whoa…what kid? And what does he know?"

The unit chief stood up and walked over to the evidence board, training his dark brown eyes on the three extra victims. "Earlier today, after you and Morgan left, I went to Captain Wesley's office to discuss the three victims he neglected to inform us about before we got here. His door was closed and when I approached I could hear something thumping against the door. I made my presence known and a few minutes later the door opened, revealing a flustered and frightened Spencer Reid. Apparently Captain Wesley had just gotten done reprimanding him for his earlier mistake."

"So, you think what you heard was that Reid kid getting shoved against the door?" Morgan asked with a scowl.

"Yes."

"Did he say why he was reprimanding Spencer?" Emily inquired, looking out the window at the boy in question.

"No…but based on his reaction when he saw that Spencer had included the victims' profiles in our copies of the casefiles…"

"You figured it was about that," Morgan finished for him.

"Yes. Exactly."

"So…do you think Captain Wesley knows more about these murders than he is letting on?" JJ asked seriously.

"I think he knows something important about these girls in particular. Hence his desire to keep them from us," Hotch said.

"And the kid?" probed Morgan.

Rossi decided to cut in on Hotch and answer this question, "It's obvious he knows something too and it's clear that Wesley has intimidated him, physically and verbally, into staying silent."

Morgan spun around in his chair, contemplating the information. "So how do we get the kid to talk if he's scared of the repercussions?"

"Well, we do what we would do for anyone in his situation…we tell him that we can protect him and follow through on that promise," Prentiss answered.

"I doubt it will be that easy. I mean…how can we protect him after we leave? Yeah, it's all well and good when we're here in the station but when we're gone who's going to stop Wesley from retaliating against him?" Morgan countered.

Silence reigned over the room as each of the profilers contemplated Morgan's words.

JJ was the first to break the silence. "Isn't it possible that the information he is withholding is something that could put Wesley away, or at least remove him from his current position on the force. Perhaps we could get him to see the benefits of leaking the information?"

"And if we're wrong? What happens then? If the kid does spill the beans and nothing happens to Captain Wesley than we've just put a major target on his back," Morgan said, playing the devil's advocate.

Hotch sighed and shook his head, "Morgan's right. We promise him something that we can't guarantee. We don't know what it is he is hiding and it's possible that whatever it is doesn't even have anything to do with the case. As of right now we can't afford to turn the focus of the investigation solely on them."

"And I wasn't suggesting that we do that," Rossi replied. "But can we really ignore a possible break in the case?"

"So what do we do?" JJ asked.

"We're going to have to put that angle on the backburner for now. We'll keep focused on investigating the girls and building a profile. In the meantime whoever is here at the precinct can keep an eye on Captain Wesley and his assistant. If we see anything else that is suspicious and case related out of those two we will open a second line of investigation," Aaron laid out reluctantly.

The other profilers murmured their assent to their leader's plan and started to get back to work.

Hotch walked over to Dave and tapped him on the shoulder, gesturing for the other man to get up and follow him out the door. The two men took a quick stroll through the station and out the front doors into the sweltering Nevada heat. "Dave, did you get the feeling that Wesley's assistant would open up to you if you had more time?"

"He seemed on the verge of telling me something right before Wesley conveniently interrupted us," Rossi stated.

"Do you think he would open up to you if you tried talking to him again later?"

"I could…but he might be wary of me now. Perhaps someone else should give it a go," Rossi suggested. The older profiler noticed the Unit Chief's furrowed brow and knew he had to explain his thinking further. "Look Aaron, the kid is skittish. He is clearly afraid of Wesley and our friend The Captain is suspicious of me now that he caught me talking to the kid. I doubt young Reid will be willing to have any further interactions with me, especially if Wesley is around."

Aaron wiped the beads of sweat that were forming off of his brow, the moisture a direct contrast to the cool head he was always known to keep. "Alright, I'll talk to Morgan about it."

"Morgan? Don't you think he a little…a little too much of an alpha…you know, a little too intimidating to even approach the boy?"

"True, but the kid doesn't seem like the type to be even remotely comfortable talking to women…at least, not about his problems. Anyways, Morgan knows how to work his way into someone's comfort zone. I think right now he's our best bet at getting through to Spencer."

"Good point…okay then…let's get back to work," Rossi said, before clapping his friend on the shoulder and walking back into the air conditioned station.

* * *

Spencer diligently labored all the way up until five o'clock. He didn't finish all of the work that Wesley and his stooges had left for him but he had done enough to appease them for the day.

It had been relatively silent after his encounter earlier with David Rossi. Since then the profilers had wandered in and out of their conference room multiple times on various errands and activities. None of them paid him any more attention and he was able to work relatively undisturbed, that is if he didn't count the innumerable times Wesley bellowed demands at him through is office door.

The genius packed up his desk and turned off his computer. He placed any files with sensitive information into a locked drawer in his desk for safekeeping until tomorrow. He then slowly got up from his rickety chair and made a stealthy exit of the precinct.

Reid hadn't even realized that he had been holding his breath until his lungs started to ache once he had gotten outside the doors. He let out the air in one great huff, relieved that he hadn't run into anyone that would impede his departure. He was especially happy that he had managed to avoid Detective Cox for the whole day. The genius hoped that the man would simply forget about collecting his earned enjoyment off of Spencer, but he knew that it was a futile wish. At least he had managed to put off the unpleasantness for another day.

He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag on his shoulder and started the long walk that would take him to the state run facility that housed his mother. It was a few miles away and in the seedier part of the city and in this sweltering heat it was going to take him at least forty-five minutes to walk there.

Along the way he passed by numerous people passing out explicit cards advertising "escorts" to entice lonely desperate men or women. Reid hated how the workers made you feel obligated to grab a card and chose to keep his head down and ignore their calls as he walked by them.

The solicitors slowly disappeared and the sidewalks started to clear as Reid made his way out of the tourist trap. Though he wasn't being constantly jostled and bumped into he still kept his guard up. There were quite a few panhandlers and straight-up crooks patrolling the streets and Spencer didn't want to fall victim to their nefarious deeds.

The lanky young man's clothes were sticking to him by the time he reached his destination. No amount of deodorant could have prevented the droplets of sweat from accumulating underneath his arms and all across his back. Spencer was slightly embarrassed of his appearance and hated for his mother to see him looking so disheveled but there was nothing he could do about it. So, he just ran his fingers through is short hair and tried to air out his shirt before he made his way into the facility.

Upon his entry he was immediately greeted by an old-fashioned metal detector manned by a security guard that looked like he earned his qualifications off of some dubious website. Already aware of the drill, Spencer just set his bag down on the conveyer belt, took off his watch and emptied his pockets. The guard just eyed him up and down as he walked through the detector and nodded for him to gather his stuff when they popped out the other side.

Wordlessly, the genius got his items and put himself back together. He walked up to the front desk and was greeted by yet another new receptionist.

"Name?" the woman asked, her voice clipped and uninterested.

"Ah…Spencer Reid."

"Who are you here to see?"

"My mother, Diana Reid."

The receptionist typed a random pattern on the keyboard and glanced at her monitor. She screwed up her face before saying, "Diana is currently at dinner and then she has a group session at 6:30."

"Isn't there anyways I could see her? I'll only be a few minutes. I promise," he pleaded, leaning his arms on the counter, trying to get a glimpse of the screen.

She sighed in disdain at his appeal and looked at her watch, "It would only be for about fifteen minutes."

"That's fine," he agreed, eager to get to see his mother.

"You need to put your bag and any other personal belongings that could be used as weapons into one of those lockers over there and then hit the buzzer on the wall next to the door. A guard will let you through and take you to see your mom," she instructed, gesturing to the lockers.

Spencer, who already knew the procedure, mumbled a quick "Thanks," and stowed his items in a metal cubby before hurrying over to the locked door.

Once there he jammed his finger on the buzzer and rocked back on his heels as he waited for the security guard on the other side to open the door. A burly man greeted him with a grunt as he made a notation on his clipboard, "This way, Mr. Reid."

The young man followed his escort down the cinderblock hallway, internally cringing at the austere atmosphere that was created by the florescent lights that hummed above his head.

He hated the fact that his mother was forced to live in such a bleak environment. There was no effort whatsoever to make the facility feel like home for its residents. The walls were bare of any color or decoration. The floor tiles were scuffed beyond all recognition and the common room was filled with ratty old furniture that had seen years of use and abuse.

There was a bookshelf in one corner that contained a few dozen torn and ragged paperback novels that had been donated by a local library. Next to that was another shelf that had a few board games, like checkers and Parcheesi, but they were likely to be missing multiple pieces. The television set that was against the one wall that had a window was only 32 inches and had a VCR slot in the base. To top it all off the entertainment stand that housed the T.V. contained about twenty videos that were all "G" rated and deemed safe for viewing by the doctors.

The guard instructed him to take a seat and left to go get Diana. Spencer sat down on the threadbare plaid couch and picked at a stray strand of thread that was sticking up from the cushion. He sighed as he tugged on the string, wishing that he could pull his mother out of this horrible hospital.

"Spencer! It's so good to see you," gushed Diana's voice from the doorway leading to the patient cafeteria.

"Mom!" he cried, standing up and opening his arms wide to receive her. She was the only person in the world that he would willingly accept an affectionate hug from.

"Oh my dear boy, just look at you. You're so thin," she exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around his skinny body and squeezed him tight. "I can feel every bone in your body."

"Mom…," he moaned, "We go over this every time I see you."

"I know, dear. And yet you still look like you dine on a breath mint every night for dinner. Aren't you eating anything?"

"I eat," he protested, reluctant to tell her exactly how little.

"Yeah…how much?"

"Enough," he mumbled, breaking the hug and leading her over to the couch.

She snorted in return and sat down, "Don't lie to your mother, Spencer."

Chagrined, Reid smiled and decided to change the subject, "How've you been, mom?"

Diana knew perfectly well that her son was avoiding the topic of food and for once let him get away with it. "I'm doing alright. Can't say that I find this place very stimulating but I'm making it work by reading the books you've brought me and writing in my journals."

"That's good. Are they treating you well?" he asked.

"Spencer, honey, they are treating me just fine. Of course, there are a few nurses and guards that I have to look out for. I think some of them are being paid off to read my journals and report back on their findings but I took care of that," she said, staring at the guard standing in the doorway.

Reid felt a bit of dread at what her last words implied, "Mom? What'd you do?"

She turned to face him a laughed, "Oh don't look so scared, Spencer. I just wrote my thoughts down in a special code. One those spies could never decipher."

Relieved, Spencer turned toward his mom, "If it's the same code I made up and taught you when I was younger than you're right…they'd never be able to figure it out."

Her face lit up at his comment, "Of course it is. You wrote the best code." She readjusted her position on the couch and turned her body to face him. The smile that was on her face fell as her eyes finally scrutinized his injured visage. She reached her hands up and cupped his cheeks, "What happened to your face?"

The young man dropped his eyes down and cleared his throat, "It's nothing…"

She made a tsking noise and rubbed her right thumb over his split lip, "This is not nothing. Someone hurt my son and I demand to know who."

Reid brought his hands up and gently pulled hers away from his wounded face. He didn't answer her again and just dipped his head down in shame.

"It was Bernie, wasn't it?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

Her son's continued silence confirmed her suspicions, "That piece of –"

"Mom," Reid hissed at his mother, cutting her off before she swore. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"Don't worry about it? Don't worry about it? Spencer, he is hurting you and it's all my fault. How can I not worry about it…about you?"

"It is not your fault!"

"Sweetie, it is and you denying it isn't going to change that. God how I wish I could turn back the clock and go back to that day. I would have taken my pills and been in my right mind when Bernie came over with those papers. I would have _never_ given him the right to be my power of attorney," she said.

"I know, mom," he said in a comforting tone.

Unfazed by her son's compassion, she grabbed his chin gently in her hand and gazed deeply into his honey-brown eyes. "And I would have never given guardianship of you over to him. I swear Spencer, I've never regretted anything more in my whole life. I know that I ruined your life with the stroke of a pen. I just hope that one day you can forgive me for banishing you to this hell that you're in."

Overcome by emotion, Spencer could only whisper, "I've never blamed you, mom."

"Oh honey, one day I'll make this all right," she promised with tears in her eyes.

Reid felt a stray drop of saltwater trickle down his cheek, "No mom, don't say that. This is on me. I'm grown up now and I'm going to take care of this. I'm saving up some money that I've been able to get from…from some side jobs and I'm going to get you into a better facility. One that's more suited to your needs."

"Pssh, don't worry about me. I'm fine here. I want you to take care of yourself first."

Spencer flushed at her comment, "You're well-being is more important than mine."

Diana, ever the observant mother, noticed his change in color and examined his body language closer. "Spencer…what is going on in that big brain of yours?"

"Nothing…it's just that…," he heaved a big sigh, "I just want to make sure you're properly taken care of for the rest of your life."

"For the rest of my life? Why are you worried…," she trailed off, her eyes going wide. "You're not –"

"Diana, time's up. It's time for your group session," a nurse interrupted, coming into the room from the hallway.

Spencer took advantage of the disruption and lunged forward and hugged his mom, "I've got to go now, mom. I probably won't be back for a while…Bernie is mad at me for messing up a big investigation today and I think he's going to ban me from seeing you. Just…just remember that I love you..."

His mother grasped him tightly and beseeched, "Please don't do anything stupid, Spencer. _Promise me_ you won't do anything stupid. It'll get better…life will get better."

He broke away from the hug and planted a small kiss on his mother's forehead, "I promise that whatever I end up doing will be well thought out. I love you, mom." And with that he turned away from his mother and followed his escort back out to the foyer where he picked up his items and left to go get ready for his night job.


	5. A Night on the Job

**Hi Friends!**

**I know it's been a bit but here I am, alive! **

**Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites. You guys are the best.**

**I'm sorry this is shorter than usual but I've kept you waiting for so long that I thought I should publish something. This chapter was supposed to be longer but hey...that just means I've already got a head start on the next one.**

**Please forgive/ignore any mistakes. My battery is about to die and I couldn't edit it that well tonight. I promise that I'll run back through this later and fix any egregious errors.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Spencer allowed the sanitarium's door slam behind him as he made his hasty exit. He really didn't want his mom worrying about him but he knew that his vague promise wasn't going to soothe her qualms.

He knew that she could tell he was miserable. What mom can't tell when their child is hurting? It's just that he hadn't made up his mind about whether or not he was going to take drastic measures to end his own pain and suffering yet. There were moments when he thought about dying and what a sweet relief it would be and there were other times when his heart ached at the notions of leaving his mother all alone.

The genius's contemplated life and death his whole hurried walk home. He didn't have much time to get ready for his "job" tonight due to his impromptu visit with his mother.

As soon as he got home he flung his bag down on the couch and went immediately to his dresser. The bottom left hand drawer was where he housed the clothing that one would deem appropriate for what he was about to do.

Of course, Spencer's choice in attire was not as risqué as the average prostitute's. Tonight he decided to wear an ensemble made up of skinny jeans with multiple rips and tears and a formfitting black button-down shirt. He knew his subdued look wasn't idea for attracting clients but he was rather self-conscious about his body. There were an innumerable amount of scars littering his skin and deep down he never saw his lanky form as very attractive. So he chose to cover up his embarrassment with his choice in clothing and rely on the colorful characters that he stood next to on the corner to draw in his clients.

He threw his outfit down on the bed and rushed into the bathroom for a quick shower and shave. His five o'clock shadow was usually a turn-off for most men, for his clientele were into the young and naïve look.

After he had finished prepping himself for tonight's activities he made his way into the kitchen and opened the mini-fridge. He pulled out his half gallon of milk and unscrewed the cap, taking a swig straight out of the container. He then reached into the cabinet and grabbed a bag of small chocolate covered doughnuts.

He popped two of them in his mouth and resealed the package before putting it back where it belonged. Spencer guzzled down some more milk and then put it away. His stomach growled at the skimpy improvised dinner but Reid didn't have the time or inclination to eat anything else.

The last thing that the youth did before leaving the house for his shift was grab his keys and a couple of dollars out of his satchel. He never brought his cell phone or identification with him. He had made that mistake once and his John had robbed him of his belongings.

Reid tucked his items down into his pocket and switched on a light so he wouldn't be coming home to a completely dark apartment. He looked at his bed wistfully before shutting the door and locking it. It was going to be a long night and sleep was the very last thing on his agenda.

* * *

Reid approached his usual corner and noticed that his fellow workers were already pounding the pavement in their three inch heels. He tipped his head at the girls and gave them a tiny wave. There were very few people out here that he would engage in regular conversation but they all knew who he was anyways, Wesley's favorite pawn. Though, out here Bernie Wesley didn't go by his given name; rather on the streets he was known as "Flatfoot."

Reid rolled his eyes the first time he heard the man's chosen title. Who did he think he was fooling with such an obvious name? The man had no creativity coupled with a boat load of arrogance and it showed in his evident lack of effort in coming up with an alias.

Spencer watched as one of the girls, Exquisite, vacated her spot and got into a red Corvette. The car was soon driving away, leaving the light pole she had been leaning on unoccupied. Reid quickly went and stood in front of it, propping his back up against it and cocking his knee. He had the urge to smoke a cigarette, an activity he only partook in when he was walking the streets. He found that the horrible habit took his mind off of what he was about to do and calmed him down a little.

"Flat forcin you out again tonight, String?" came a sweet voice off to his left.

Spencer smiled and turned his head to see one of the few people he called a friend in this world, Kiki. He had met the sweet girl on his first night out on the streets a few years ago. She was a few years older than him and thought of him as a little brother. When she saw him trying and failing to pick up some clients she took him under her wing and taught him the ropes. It was under her tutelage that he earned the named "String Bean," but Kiki usually shortened it to just "String."

Kiki was a cute short blonde haired girl with baby blue eyes. She was short in stature and rail thin; her only curves coming from the strapless water-bra she wore to enhance her chest. Tonight she wore a neon pink tube top with a matching skirt. Both articles of clothing were extremely small and barely covering her assets. Kiki rounded off her look with brightly shadowed eyes and ruby red lipstick, a sure draw for any man craving what she had to offer.

Reid grimaced at her question, "Yeah…he said that someone has to help bring in the money now that Vixen and Uniq are dead too."

"Yeah, well they wouldn't be dead if he wasn't fightin that ridiculous turf war against Luthor. Vegas is big enough to handle a hundred pimps and make them all millions."

Rolling his eyes, Spencer said, "You don't have to tell me that."

"I know. I know. You're a genius and you could probably tell me the exact amount a hundred pimps could make per night," she teased good-naturedly.

"It's –"

"I didn't say I wanted to know, smart ass."

Spencer gave a small chuckle and fell silent, watching a car slow to a stop in front of them. Kiki, seeing the potential customer too, threw her shoulders back to accentuate her chest. The window rolled down, revealing two pimply-faced boys both looking close to panic. The one on the passenger side went to say something to the two of them but the driver chickened out and tore off down the street before the first word could leave his friend's mouth.

Kiki pursed her lips at the retreating vehicle, "Fuckin newbies."

Reid nodded his agreement but was secretly relieved that they left. Neither one of them needed to get tangled up with inexperienced clients that could possibly freak out during their session.

The two friends stood in silence for a few minutes before Kiki ventured to ask another question. "So, are you close to ya goal yet?"

Spencer sucked on his bottom lip, contemplating on how to answer her question. He had told Kiki previously about his desire to garner enough money to move his mom to a new facility and keep her there for the rest of her life. The problem is that the amount of money it would take to do that was astronomical and he couldn't fathom a way to make that kind of cash. Besides, he'd also have to convince Bernie to sign off on moving his mother and that was a long shot in and of itself. At this point, he had all but given up on the dream and just wanted to make enough money to buy his mom a parting gift to remember him by, namely a first edition of "Tristan and Isolde."

"After reevaluating my life…I've come to the conclusion that I needed to change my goal…there's no way in hell I'd ever make enough money to put her where she belongs," he explained sadly. "Besides, he'd never go for me moving her anyways."

"Yeah, well flatdick's a jerk and if ya made enough money you could take him to court and fight for the right to be your mother's power of attorney!"

"How would I pay for a lawyer?"

"Come on String, you're smarter than all of us out here put together! Ya could just be your own lawyer," she said in exasperation.

"He who represents himself has a fool for a client," Reid quoted Abraham Lincoln wisely.

"Well, ya're a fool for not even tryin," she retorted bitterly, knowing that her friend would be successful if he would just take a chance on himself.

"You know why I don't try and you know why I won't win," he said despondently. "Besides, Bernie has friends in high places that he sets up on "dates," he said using air quotations. "He'd just figure out which judge was overseeing the case and get them to side with him."

She knew he was right. Wesley had her adopted baby brother over a barrel and it killed her. She grabbed his forearm and squeezed it tightly, silently expressing her sympathetic thoughts.

He reached up and patted her hand, giving her a wan smile.

Kiki's effort at comfort didn't last long when another car pulled up and propositioned her. She gave Reid another squeeze before plastering on a bright smile and strolling off to get in her customers car.

Reid sighed as he leaned back against the light pole once again. He hated it when Kiki started trying to get him to break out of his current predicament. He knew she meant well but he always felt emotionally drained and physically trapped in his station after their conversations were over. Why didn't she understand that he was stuck where he was and there was nothing he could do about it?

* * *

A few hours later Reid found himself back at his corner with his arms crossed over his chest. He had already gone out on a few jobs but the money he earned was negligible. He still needed about $250 and it was already 3:00 am.

He heard the click-clack of heels against cement and was pleasantly surprised to find Kiki strolling up the street toward him. "Hey, Kiki. How's your night been?" he asked her when she got closer.

"It's been alright. Ain't made much tho…The Dick ain't going to be happy with me by morning. There just ain't enough Johns buyin tonight."

"Is it wrong that I'm glad I'm not the only one coming up short tonight?"

She chuckled, "Nah, ya're fine…misery loves company, right?"

"Exactly," he said, happy that she understood his meaning.

"How much ya got left to make?"

He reached his hand down to his pocket and felt the wad nestled in the fabric. "I need about $250. You?"

She whistled, "Whew, I don't need that much. I'm about $100 short. Nothin a few blow jobs wouldn't take care of…I just need someone to bl-oh, would you look at that…is that a Lamborghini?"

Spencer turned and saw a sleek green car pull up to the curb. The window rolled down in one smooth motion but the owner of the vehicle didn't lean over to talk to them. Kiki took it upon herself to approach the car and offer her services. She leaned down and rested her arms on the window ledge, pushing her head through the open space and starting up a conversation.

Reid couldn't hear their exchange and was extremely surprised when she stood up from her bent over position and strolled back over to him.

"Well it's your lucky night…he wants you," she announced, beaming.

"What?"

"Lamborghini swings your way."

Spencer stood stunned for a minute. He had never had such a high rolling client.

"Well go on! He's not going to wait forever." She put her arm on his shoulder and pushed him toward the car.

"Thanks," he called over his shoulder. "Have a good night."

"You too, String. You too!" she called, taking up his position on the ever popular light pole.

Reid ran a hand through his unruly hair and bent down when he got to the car window.

"How much?" was the first thing the man asked when Spencer's face peered through the open space.

"Depends on what you want."

"Cock sucking and a full out fuck with some dom/sub play," the thirty-something man stated.

"That'll run you about $200 –"

"Fine, whatever – I'll pay you $300 if you'll blow me on our way my house."

"Deal," Reid confirmed.

"Get in," the man ordered.

Not needing to be told twice, Reid hopped in the green Lamborghini and turned toward his client. The man rolled up the tinted window and put the car in gear. Spencer was in the process of pushing a stray piece hair out of his eyes before reaching toward the man's fly.

His hand was mid-way to its destination when something slammed into his temple, causing his whole world to go black.

* * *

The darkness felt thick and fuzzy as it filled the space in his head. The genius could feel his head pounding and tried to bring a hand up to rub at the sore temple.

He wasn't even able to move his wrist more than an inch when it seemed to catch on something. Groaning, Reid set about forcing his eyes to open as a feeling of uneasiness settled in his stomach.

He cracked his honey-brown eyes a few millimeters and cringed at the bright light that assaulted his pupils. He blinked rapidly trying to expel the pain and waited for his vision to clear.

When he could finally see his surroundings he started to panic. His arms were tied to the headboard of the bed he was sprawled out upon and his legs were spread wide with each ankle attached to a footboard post.

He lifted his head and saw the man from the Lamborghini standing next to the bed.

"W-what h-happened?" he asked, hoping that this was all just part of the guy's kink.

"I knocked you out. It's easier to get you in here and prepared when you're unconscious," he said, walking to the head of the bed and peering down at his prey.

"You didn't have to do that. I would have submitted like you asked," Reid told him, confused by the man.

His customer smirked at Spencer's statement and reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. The youth sucked in a deep breath of air and tried to move his body away from the weapon.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Look, I'm sorry kid but I've got a job to do. And right now, that job is to help Luthor make your boss understand that only one man can control the strip, and it sure as fuck ain't him."

Reid watched as the tip of the knife traveled down to his neck and felt his mind go to pieces. He didn't want to die like this! So in his irrational state of mind there was only one thing that he could come up with to stop what was about to happen. "I'm Flatfoot's adopted son!"


	6. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Reid's assaulter pulled pack at the boy's panicked statement. "What did you say?"

"I-I'm Wes-Flatfoot's a-adopted son," he sputtered out again.

"You're fucking lying," the man said calmly.

"N-no, I'm not. H-he adopted me w-when I was twelve," he explained, watching as the knife that was hovering near his throat pulled back. He closed his eyes and sighed in relief, happy that he had just earned himself a stay in execution.

The man didn't say anything else to his potential victim, choosing instead to sit down on the dingy chair by the window. Reid opened his eyes after a few minutes, the silence in the room piquing his curiosity. He saw his captor leaning forward with his elbows cocked on his knees. He was pushing his phone back and forth in his hands as if he was contemplating making a call.

This was the first time that Reid was able to get a good look at his abductor. His body was thin but not underweight. He had toned muscles that were showing out from under his short sleeved T-shirt, indicating that the man was physically fit. His hair was pitch-black and it was styled in an old-fashioned pompadour. The man's face was haggard and scarred more than one would expect on a thirty-something-year-old, but Spencer guessed that most of it was due to a major acne issue from his teenage years.

His most distinguishing characteristic was the bushy mustache that was housed between his upper lip and nose. It was a thick black patch of hair that matched his head and it was well groomed. The man had taken to playing with it after he stopped tossing his phone back and forth, possibly a habit he'd formed over time to help him think.

His abductor must have decided to call Luthor because moments later he unlocked his smart phone, hit a button and put held it out in front of him. Reid was surprised to hear a ring tone invading the room, a sign that the man had decided to us the speaker phone feature.

It only took three rings for his contact to pick up. A gruff voice clearly rang out, "Is the job done?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, the kid that I picked up tonight…he claims to be Flatty's son."

Luthor let out a loud chortle, "That's re-damn-diculous, Flatty doesn't have any kids. And he sure as hell wouldn't let them whore themselves out. Is that why you fucking called me? Goddammit, just do your job and stop talking to the whores."

"But…he says he was adopted…why would he've made that up?"

"Gee, I don't know…because you were about to kill him. Dumbass."

"No, it's true!" Spencer shouted out, unable to hold his tongue. "He did adopt me. I've been his son for the past ten years."

"Do you have me on speaker phone?" Luther shouted across the line.

"Yeah boss, sorry," the felon said, chagrined. "I'll fix it."

"No, fuck it. The damage's already been done…Can you still hear me, slut?"

"Y-yes," Reid stuttered nervously as he twisted his hands in their bonds.

"What's this about Flatty adopting you? And why do you think I should care?" Luthor asked, cutting to the chase.

"He-he did adopt me. He just doesn't advertise it. He-he doesn't like people knowing about it."

"Why? Are you some kind of fuck-up?"

"He-he didn't do it out of love but convenience. I-I help him with a lot of stuff."

"How can a whore like you help someone like Flatty out? What? Do you give him head when he's feeling stressed? Or does he just use and abuse your blown out hole?"

"N-no…God, no. H-he doesn't swing that way. I'm more like his workhorse. I manage all his finances and do his paperwork," Reid explained, unsure as to whether or not Luthor knew that Wesley was a cop.

"And he whores you out too? Damn, that man is so crooked that if he swallowed a nail he'd shit out a corkscrew…but tell me slut, why should I care?"

Reid was speechless. He had hoped that the man would see some merit in keeping him alive.

"Seriously, if you're so valuable to Flatty then we'd be better off killing you anyways. I can see it now. Flatty won't be able to run his own books, his business will suffer and his job will come crashing down around him. So, I like I said, we're better off killing you," Luthor stated emotionlessly.

The man on the couch smirked at his boss's last statement and pulled out his knife with his free hand. He held it up and waved it back and forth right in Spencer's line of sight.

"Y-you could use me to send him a message," he offered desperately.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the phone, "Yeah...and what message would that be?"

"That if he doesn't back down than you'll take away his most valuable asset," Reid suggested.

Luthor stayed silent for at least a minute before he ordered, "Joe, get me off of the speaker."

Joe, Reid's abductor, slid his butterfly knife back in his pocket and hit the appropriate button on the phone's screen. "Ya, boss?"

Spencer could hear the sound of words coming through the phone but he couldn't make them out. He tried straining his ears in order to hear what Luthor was saying but his efforts were useless. Joe, observing the restrained man's endeavor, smiled crookedly and said into the phone, "Yeah, I understand," before hanging up.

Luthor's pawn kept the smile on his face as he secured his knife and slid it into his pocket along with his phone. The genius dropped his head back down onto the mattress behind him upon seeing the other man's actions, relief flowing through his brain at the fact that he wasn't about to be killed. Luthor must have agreed with his suggestion.

A clinking sound caught his attention seconds later, causing him to jerk his head up to see what the other man was doing. His abductor was in the middle of removing his belt when he noticed Reid's amber eyes trained up on him.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Reid asked, anxiously.

The man pulled the leather accessory from around his waist and gathered it in both hands, snapping it loudly. He chuckled when his captive flinched at the sound, "I think you know."

Reid started struggling viciously against his bonds, tugging and jerking the rope in a vain effort to free his hands and feet.

Joe, enjoying the show, slowly crept up to the head of the bed and snapped the belt again. He reached down and started undoing the buttons with his free hand, exposing the kid's milky white chest.

"Please don't," Spencer begged even though he knew it was pointless.

The man's flashed him another brilliant smile before he reared his right hand, which was now holding the belt by its clasp, back into the air. "You're gonna wish that I had killed you before this is over," Joe stated before he swung his arm down, causing the leather to slap ferociously against Reid's skin.

* * *

Reid awoke with a groan, his whole body sore and aching. His eyes peaked open in narrow slits in order to protect his pupils from the blazing light filtering through the crack in the curtains. He wanted to bring his right hand down to shade his face from the sun but his dominant hand wouldn't budge.

The restrained limb brought back memories of the night before, causing his eyes to fly wide open in order to take in his surroundings.

He was still in the same squalid motel room as he was when he woke up last night, except this time he was seemingly all alone. Fortunately, his left hand was free of its prior bonds and he used it to push himself up off the mattress as far as he could go. When he got himself into a semi-upright position he tried to inspect the nooks and crannies of the room that had been hidden while he was lying on his back. It didn't take long for his intelligent eyes to figure out that he was all alone; Joe must have left sometime after he had passed out.

He sighed in relief and allowed himself to fall backwards onto the stiff mattress. It wasn't until his back made contact with the scratchy sheets that he remembered the abuse that he had endured last night; the cuts and welts screaming in pain as they rubbed up against the abrasive surface. For after his captor was finished with whipping his chest with the belt he undid some of Reid's bindings and flipped him over, giving his back the same treatment as his front.

Reid let out a pitiful whimper as he tried to bring his legs up to his chest but he soon figured out that they too were still secured. Against his body's agonizing protests he pushed himself up again and took stock of his situation.

He was still wearing his shirt, though it had been unbuttoned and bunched up around his shoulders, leaving his chest bare. Thankfully, that was something he easily rectified by pulling the fabric down with his left hand in order to give himself some semblance of coverage.

After that he let his eyes wander down past his waist. There he found, much to his chagrin, the whole bottom half of his body was stark naked. Reid craned his neck around until he spotted his pants and shoes in a crumpled heap on the floor under the window. The genius looked back down at his ankles and rolled them around, wincing at the red irritated wounds that the harsh rope had left on his exposed skin. He tugged each leg with powerful jerks but the knots keeping them bound held steady.

Realizing that his legs weren't going to come free of their own accord, the bound genius turned his attention to his dominant hand. It was still tied at the wrist to the headboard behind him. He twisted his upper half onto his right side and brought his left hand up and started to fiddle with the rope. As he rotated his weight onto his right shoulder his eyes caught a glimpse of the alarm clock perched on the nightstand.

10:08.

It was 10:08 in the morning and he was ridiculously late for work. Wesley had probably been blowing up his phone all morning trying to figure out where he was.

The time on the clock caused his actions to become frenzied as he yanked at the knots keeping his wrist in place. His fingers fumbled around with the cord, pinching and pulling as they worked furiously to free his hand. He knew that he should be thanking Joe for leaving him with at least one limb unbound, but at the moment he could only curse the thug.

"Thank God!" he exclaimed when the rope finally loosened and fell free from his wrist. He snatched his hand from its position above his head and rubbed the raw skin. He sat up, ignoring the pain that radiated from his irritated wounds and went to work on his feet.

As soon as all four of his limbs were untied he jumped off the bed and grabbed his clothing off the floor. He ran into the bathroom and took care of business before redressing himself. His pants were halfway up his legs when he caught sight of himself in the long narrow mirror that was attached to the bathroom door.

Reid sucked in a sharp breath of air at the image staring back at him. Of course he had noted some of his injuries while he had been stuck on the bed, but seeing them now reflected back at him made them seem ten times worse.

His right eye was painted a vivid black and blue thanks to Joe's fists. His chest was covered in bruises and welts, each having been generated by a strike of the belt. But it was the sight of the dried blood and semen on the inside of his thighs took him by surprise the most. He reached down and hesitantly touched a spot on his legs, scratching at it with his index finger until some of the dried fluid rubbed flaked off. It wasn't until that moment that he realized that his backside felt like it was on fire. He gingerly reached his hand around to his backend and fingered his abused hole. He could tell immediately that it was swollen and inflamed. Joe must have raped him some time after he had passed out from the beating.

Humiliation flushed his cheeks red and a few tears welled in his eyes. He grabbed a washcloth off the towel rack and ran it under some warm water. He then tried his hardest to scrub away the residue but it was fairly caked on and he knew that he was going to need a hot shower to get it off.

With that realization, he threw the soiled cloth down onto the bathroom floor and finished pulling up his pants. He reached his hand into one of the back pockets to check to see if his belongings were still housed inside and found that all of his hard earned money had been stolen.

A cry of dismay escaped his lips at the thought of having to tell Wesley that he had had been robbed. He closed his eyes and wiped his hand over his face. This was going to be bad and there was nothing that he could do to change it.

* * *

Spencer slipped out of the sleazy motel and walked home as fast as his wounds would allow. He arrived at his apartment about forty-five minutes later and immediately went to check his phone. As he expected, there were over twenty missed calls coupled with voicemails and texts. He paused briefly to read some of the messages but quickly threw down the electronic devise when his insides started rebelling at the graphic threats that Wesley had conveyed with his colorful words.

Trying to push aside thoughts about what was in store for him when he got to the precinct, Reid grabbed a fresh set of clothes and showered faster than he ever had before. He was trying to pull a comb through his hair when his phone started ringing.

Reid tossed the comb down into the sink and grasped the porcelain in both hands. He leaned his head down and said, "Go answer the phone, you coward. You know it will only make it worse if you don't. He'll know you saw the missed calls and chose not to call him back or answer."

He took a deep breath and went and picked up the phone from where he dropped it on the floor. "H-hello?"

"Fucking A! You're four hours late and you have the gall to answer the phone with 'Hello?' Where the hell are you?" roared Wesley in Reid's ear.

"I-I'm s-sorry, sir. I-I'll explain when I-I g-get there. I-I'm o-on my way, right now."

"You had better be here in twenty minutes with all of my money or else I'll make good on my promise to – eh…you know what, you know exactly what I'm capable of. Now get your ass down here," the chief ordered before hanging up the phone.

Spencer, stunned at the man's fury, pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. He knew exactly what Bernie was threatening this time and it wasn't something as simple as keeping him away from his mother.

Reid heaved a large sigh; there was no way he could go in to work without the $600 he owed the man. He squeezed the cell phone tightly in his hand as he walked over to his dresser and pulled one of the books that was sitting on top of it into his hands. To the outside world it would look like he was picking up a copy of "Don Quixote" but it was really a hollowed out version of the classic novel. He popped open the hard covered book and nestled inside was a wad of cash that he had set aside to buy his mother his parting gift.

He tenderly removed the money and exhaled a saddened breath. This was going to set his plans back a few months but it was better than the alternative, a life more restricted and contained than the one he lived now.

* * *

It was around noon when the genius finally got to work. He walked in quietly and tipped his head down, clutching the strap of his messenger bag in both hands as he tried to navigate his way through the station. Luckily, the place wasn't too crowed because most of the officers were out on patrol or eating lunch.

As he approached his desk he tilted his chin up and saw that the coast was clear. The profilers were in their conference room discussing something and Captain Wesley's door was shut tight. He decided to take advantage of what would probably be the only moments of solitude that he would get today. So, Reid sat down at his desk and unpacked his satchel before turning on his computer.

Unfortunately, he wasn't even logged into the system when the door to Bernie's office door crashed open and the man bellowed, "What the fuck are you doing? Get your ass in here!"

Wide-eyed and trembling, Spencer jumped out of his seat and meekly scooted past the captain's towering figure and into the office. Behind him Wesley slammed the door and turned toward his adopted son, failing to notice that the barrier didn't close. Instead, the cheap piece of wood bounced off the jamb and swung open a few inches.

The uniformed man stalked over to the genius and positioned himself inches from the boy's gaunt face. "So, you wanna tell me where the fuck you've been all morning? Couldn't be bothered to come into work on time? Or no, let me guess…you were abducted by aliens."

Spencer licked his lips and trained his gaze on Wesley's chin, refusing to meet the man's penetrating gaze. "I…uh…I-it was Luthor. He…his man picked me up last night and tried to kill me."

The young man's revelation actually took the captain by surprise, causing him to step back out of Reid's personal space.

"What?"

"Y-yeah…um…all I know i-is that his name is Joe and he drives a green Lamborghini. He…uh…picked me up around three and knocked me out after I got into his car." Reid's stuttering tapered off as he related the facts to his boss. "I woke up tied to the bed in a motel a few miles away and he almost sliced my throat open like he did to Vixen and Uniq."

"You actually met Luthor's thug? Could you describe him to a sketch artist? Did you see his plates? Fuck, this could be just what we needed. If we can hunt down this Joe and take him out than Luthor loses his muscle and we can push him out of our territory once and for all," Wesley said thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Uh, I think I could describe him," Reid offered. "As for his plates, I didn't see them but how many green Lamborghinis are there in Vegas? Why don't I go get Matt and start on that drawing?" he said, inching towards the door.

"Wait a second. You said he tried to kill you. What stopped him? Why aren't you dead?" Wesley demanded, grabbing Spencer's upper arm to hold him in place.

Reid gulped down a big breath of air before he answered, "I-I convinced him to let me live."

"How? Why would Luthor's boy kill the other whores and leave you alive? Why aren't we peeling your diseased corpse off the pavement as we speak?"

Spencer cringed at Wesley's flippant words. "I…I told him that I was your son," he murmured so low that it sounded more like he was humming than speaking words.

"You wanna repeat that louder for me?" Bernie asked, squeezing Reid's arm tightly.

The genius coughed and spoke just slightly louder, "I-uh-I told him that I was your son."

"What!?" the captain cried out, using his grip on Reid's arm to throw him down to the ground. "You did what?"

The young man scuttled backwards on the floor and ran straight into the couch. He covered his head with his hands, fearing another beating and desperately tried to explain himself. "Please! I-I didn't know what else to say to get him to stop. He had the knife at my throat and – and I didn't want to die."

"You fucking idiot! Why the hell would Luthor care if you were my son?"

"Be-because I told him that I'm responsible for all your books and finances and that if he kept me alive than I would give you a message."

"Yeah, and what the fuck is this so called message?"

"Luthor said that if you don't back off than he really will let Joe kill me next time and then there won't be anyone left to run your business for you."

Spencer had never seen Wesley as angry as he was right now. It was almost cartoonish in nature and at any moment he expected steam to erupt from between the man's ears.

"So now Luthor thinks that you're the brains of this operation and that I'm a bumbling idiot? I'm going to lose all cred with him and all the other weakass pimps out there. You don't know what type of damage you've just done, boy! You're going to fucking wish he did kill you…"

"But if I wouldn't have done it than you would have never found out about Joe and now we can at least hunt him down and kill him first. Like you said, now you have a leg up on Luthor and you can take your territory back, restoring your reputation in the process," Spencer said desperately.

Wesley grabbed Reid's shirt and pulled him up off the floor. "I can't believe what a dumb shit you are, especially for someone who is a certified genius…but you're right…we are going to get ahead of that fucker and kill his man. When this is all over though you are going to have some serious consequences to face…you get me?"

"Y-yes, sir," Reid said solemnly.

Bernie let go of the boy's shirt and turned around. "Alright, here's what you're going to do. You're going to get out there and describe that fuckstick to Matt and then you're going to search for the owner of that car."

"Yes, sir. I'll get right on top of that," Spencer said, hoping that his compliance would keep Bernie placated.

"Wait a second. Where is my money?"

"I-I only have $150," Reid said, holding out the cash after he withdrew it from his pocket.

"You are pushing me today, boy. What the fuck happened to all your earnings from last night?" Wesley growled, snatching the money out of Spencer's willowy hand.

"Luthor's guy robbed me. He-he took all my money after he beat and…and ra-assaulted me. Th-this was just a bit extra I was saving to pay for my electric bill next month," Reid lied.

"Well, it looks like you'll be living in the dark."

Reid just nodded silently at the comment and started to take his leave.

"Oh and Spencer," Wesley called.

The genius stopped and turned around to look at his boss, "Yes, sir?"

"You look like shit so I'm giving you the night off to recover."

Reid could feel relief flow through his aching body, "Thank you, sir."

Spencer's respite was short lived though, for seconds later Wesley said, "But aftertonight I want you out for the rest of the week. And, your first night back you need to make at least $1050 to make up for the money you're missing today plus your regular daily quota."

"B-but, sir…I-I don't think I'll be ready to entertain anyone like that so soon…Luthor's man…he…he raped me. I-I'll need more time to heal."

"Ha! Did you just say that you were raped? Getting fucked is your job. It's not my fault Luthor's boy stole from you instead of paid you. You should keep better tabs on your stuff. Besides, you're a whore. And everyone knows that whores can't be raped.

Reid's mouth gaped open at Wesley's heartless dismissal of his assault. How could someone rise so high in the police force with such prejudice? Realizing that this man had no shred of decency and there would be no sympathy forthcoming, Reid bowed his head again and started walking out of the office.

He didn't even make it two steps before the cracked door flung open all the way, revealing an incensed Agent Morgan.


	7. I'm Not Worth It

**Hi Friends!**

**I know it's been awhile and I'm sorry. There will be a longer a/n at the end if you care to read it. No worries if you don't.**

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**Please forgive my mistakes!**

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* * *

Morgan had just left the conference room on his way to the bathroom when he heard an angry voice emanating from behind Captain Wesley's doorway. Usually he wouldn't be one to stop and eavesdrop on someone else's dressing-down but something about the man's tone piqued his interest, namely the disgust he could feel even though the words were muffled. He inched closer to the door and was finally able to clearly hear what was being said.

"…he…he raped me. I-I'll need more time to heal," said a soft docile voice, pleading for understanding.

"Ha! Did you just say that you were raped? Getting fucked is your job. It's not my fault that Luthor's boy stole from you instead of paid you. You should keep better tabs on your stuff. Besides, you're a whore. And everyone knows that whores can't be raped," the voice belonging to Captain Wesley said with abhorrence.

"What the fuck?" Morgan murmured under his breath, livid that the police captain was treating someone that had clearly sought him out for help so poorly. How could the man dismiss an innocent woman's cry for help? That fact that this victim was brave enough to report her rape was amazing in and of itself. Only 20% of rapes are reported period, and that number was reduced significantly when separating out assaults reported by prostitutes. Hell, most working girls would never even step foot into a police station, let alone report an assault when they got inside. They were used to being snubbed and looked down upon for what they did for a living. This one was courageous enough to break the mold and seek out help…and look at the pigheadedness she was encountering because of it.

Pissed off, Morgan knew he couldn't let this stand. Besides, what if this prostitute was a potential witness? Maybe the man that attacked her was the same one that killed the others. Perhaps she was just lucky enough to get away or maybe she wasn't his type. The agent knew that he couldn't let her leave without talking to her and getting her report officially filed. He had to make sure she knew that there were people out there that weren't as self-righteous and single-minded as the captain. He couldn't let Wesley's prejudice against prostitutes alienate the team's only potential witness.

While all these thoughts were racing through his mind in a matter of seconds, his body decided it was time to take action. And before he even registered it, his hand was reaching out and pushing the door in with all the force he could muster.

The barrier slammed wide open revealing the captain standing before his desk with his arms crossed on his chest. If Morgan hadn't been so angry he would have laughed at the comical look of shock that was painting the man's face. Wesley's jaw was dropped down almost to the floor and his eyes were wide with surprise.

Morgan didn't even give the man a chance to speak before he growled, "You wanna repeat that, man?"

Wesley's mouth open and closed wordlessly as his mind tried to understand what had just happened. "W-what?"

"Do. You. Want. To. Repeat. That?" Morgan spat out, emphasizing each word as if he was talking to a simpleton.

Finally, Wesley's brain seemed to catch up with the situation. "I-uh-Agent Morgan…can I help you with something?" he asked, ignoring the profiler's question.

"Yeah man," he said, purposefully dropping the man's title out of disrespect, "You can help me with something."

The police captain raised his eyebrows as if to say, "And what would that be?"

"First, you can tell me why you're dismissing this woman's assault charges. Then I want you to explain to me why exactly a prostitute can't be raped because the way I see it you and you're obtuse opinion may very well be hindering this case and any potential progress we could be making," Morgan fumed.

Surprisingly, Wesley started to smirk at the agent's irate words. "Agent, I don't know what you think you heard but I can assure you that I am not dismissing any _woman's_ assault charges. That would be unethical and a violation of the oath I swore when I accepted my position as an officer of the law. Let me clarify for you exactly what you overheard. My assistant," Wesley paused to gesture over to the skinny young man, "and I were just going over some notes I had dictated to him on an unrelated case. Apparently the voices on the recorder were too garbled for him to make out and we were discussing the correct interpretation."

Morgan's brow furrowed at the man's rebuttal. He wasn't buying the captain's explanation at all and turned toward the other occupant in the room, Spencer Reid.

To say that Reid's appearance was atrocious would have been an understatement. Standing there next to him was not the same young man that he had met yesterday. Instead was a cowering mass of nerves that refused to meet his gaze.

"P-pretty Boy, what the hell happened to you?" he asked in disbelief as his eyes scoured over the young man's body taking in its deplorable condition. He was immediately drawn to Spencer's face where the dark bruise that covered kid's right eye stood out like a sore thumb. As his eyes traveled the rest of the way down the boy's body he noticed a few faint bruises around the swanlike neck, some livid red marks around his wrists. Morgan even registered the way the kid seemed to be shifting from foot to foot as if he couldn't find a comfortable stance.

The profiler's question took the assistant by surprise, causing him to practically jump out of his skin at being addressed. He tilted his head up and started to fidget with his hands, pulling down the shirt sleeves that had ridden up to reveal the offending marks.

"I-uh-I-"

"He ran his mouth at the wrong guy last night at the bar and got the shit beat out of him," Wesley supplied smugly.

Morgan shot the captain a quick dirty look before turning his gaze back toward the boy. "Is that true? he asked suspiciously.

"Of course it is! Why would I make that up?" the captain piped up again.

"Gee, I don't know. It could be because something hinkey is going on here and you're trying to cover it up," Morgan retorted.

"That's enough now, agent. We don't need to discuss our personal business with you. So if there is something else that you need, I suggest you say it. If not, than you can get out of my office," Wesley barked, pissed that the profiler was pursing the topic relentlessly.

Ignoring the captains tirade, Derek suddenly asked the assistant, "Which bar?"

"W-what?"

"Which bar were you at last night?" he repeated, not so subtly calling Wesley's bluff.

"I-I was – "

"He was at –"

Morgan jerked around at the sound of Wesley's voice, "I wasn't asking you, Captain. Now if you'd kindly shut up-"

"Agent Morgan," came Hotch's no-nonsense voice from behind the incensed agent.

The profiler spun around to see his boss standing in the doorway, his face a blank canvas showing no emotion. "Hotch?"

"What's the problem here?" Aaron asked, cutting to the chase.

"The problem, _Hotch_," Bernie said mockingly, "is that your agent here is butting in where he doesn't belong."

Hotch, not rising to Captain Wesley's baiting, stayed focused on Morgan. "Is this true, Morgan?"

Derek brought one of his hands up and swiped it down the back of his head to his neck. He kept his arm there, massaging its pressure points with his muscular fingers. "Look, I was on my way to the restroom when I overheard Pretty Boy over there tell the captain that he had been raped. This guy blew him off and told him that whores can't be raped – that its part of their job description. Now you know I couldn't stand for that."

"And like I told your agent we were just going over some dictated case notes that Spencer has to type up for me," Wesley defended.

"I see," Hotch said cryptically, taking in the scene before him. "Mr. Reid is there anything you would like to add?"

Spencer looked up at the formidable agent with wide eyes, "I-uh…Agent Morgan was-"

The boy's words were cut off by a fake cough issuing out of the captain's mouth. The frightened young man looked over at his boss and met his glaring eyes. The two profilers followed Reid's line of sight over to Captain Wesley and saw the threatening look he was shooting at the boy.

Reid must have gotten the message loud and clear for moments later he continued his answer, "Agent Morgan misconstrued what he heard. Captain Wesley was just clarifying case notes for me."

Hotch looked the young man up and down before asking, "Where is your notepad and the recorder?"

"Excuse me?"

"If you were two were trying to clarify verbal notes wouldn't you need to listen to them together in order to filter through the garbled portions? And wouldn't you need to write down the correct interpretation once Captain Wesley explained what was being said?"

Reid open and closed his mouth a few times, unsure on how to answer the probing questions. Luckily, he didn't need to come up with an excuse for why he had neither of the materials the special agent had inquired about because Captain Wesley took it from there.

"Not you too, Agent Hotchner. Are all FBI agents this obtrusive or did we just hit the jackpot with your team? I'm not going to entertain any further questioning on this matter and neither is my assistant. Reid, you are dismissed. I want those case notes complete before you leave for the day," he ordered. "And you two, Agent Hotchner and Agent Morgan, can make your way out of my office too because unless you have a question regarding the case, which is the real reason you're here in the first place, I'm through listening to you."

Whatever Hotch's response was to the captain's harsh words was lost on Derek at that moment as he watched the gangly young man say a quiet, "Yes Sir," and scoot his body around the two profilers that were blocking the door. The concerned agent's eyes watched him as he beat a hasty retreat out of the office, making a beeline for his desk. Just as the awkward youth arrived at his destination a detective that Derek recognized from yesterday stopped and grabbed Spencer's scrawny right arm. He watched as the older man pulled the boy close and whispered something in his ear.

What happened next had alarm bells ringing in Morgan's ears. For the detective must have said something disturbing to the assistant because his face suddenly went pale and his breathing seemed to speed up. The profiler started to step around his superior and make his way out of the office to stop the interaction when the detective released his grasp on the boy's arm. The second he was free Spencer turned away from the other man and all but ran toward the front of the precinct and out the glass doors.

"Agent Morgan?"

Derek turned toward his superior and friend, finally seeing something other than a blank look on his face. His boss must have been calling his name for a few seconds while he had been concentrating on the boy. "Uh-yeah, Hotch?"

"Is everything alright?"

"Uh-yeah-uh-no. I-I've gotta go. I'll meet you back in the conference room later," he said before edging out the door and after the kid that had him so mystified.

* * *

Hotch watched as his colleague weaved through the maze of desks and out the doors before turning back to the captain.

"Do you always let your subordinates make the calls?" the other man said snidely.

"I have no qualms with allowing my people to make decisions when I know they are beneficial to our work," Hotch replied stoically.

Wesley let out a huff of air and crossed his arms over his chest again, "Look I expect a full apology from your bro out there for the way he behaved earlier or else I'm going to your boss and letting him know how unprofessional your team has been while working this case."

Hotch nodded his head, "And that's your right. But I should let you know that as you make that call I will be getting in touch with your superior and letting him know that you are obstructing this case by withholding vital information."

The crooked cop started sputtering at the agent's response, "I-I have done no such thing!"

"Really? Then would you mind telling me why you didn't inform us of the extra victims before we came out here? Or perhaps you would rather tell me why we my technical analyst had to tell me about the prostitute that was murdered last night on the strip?" Hotch paused his speech to throw down a few pictures that Garcia had sent over a few minutes ago. "Because from where I'm standing it looks like you are trying to cover something up. The only thing I'm not sure of is whether or not your secrets really pertain to this case or if they are connected to something completely unrelated. Either way, I'm sure your Deputy Chief would be interested in hearing the details."

"Now you listen here-"

"No, you listen. Since we've gotten here you have gone out of your way to avoid us. You are trying to hide something and you are scared to death that we are going to uncover it. Now I can assure you that my team and I are only here for one reason and that is to figure out who is murdering these prostitutes and we will do that with or without you. Whether or not your dirty little secret is revealed through our investigation is not my concern but I will not tolerate these games you're playing any further. Either help us or get out of our way."

"These accusations are ridiculous!"

"That may be but it seems we are at an impasse. Now I suggest you drop any hopes you have of Agent Morgan apologizing and for now I'll overlook your lack of effort. Are we clear?"

"I-I…"

"Are we clear?"

The captain, whose face had turned red in anger a while ago, spat out a resentful, "Yes."

"Good. Now I want to know why we weren't informed about this newest victim."

"I wasn't sure if she was related to our case so I didn't want to inform you until my men confirmed it. I didn't see the point of sending your team on a wild goose chase if it wasn't necessary."

Hotch shot him a glare that said "I don't believe you for a second."

"Really, I was going to tell you after I was done talking with my assistant."

Hotch sighed and picked up his photos, "From now on you will inform us of anything that happens that even remotely resembles our case. And my team and I will need to see all notes and pictures that your men took of the crime scene before we go out and look for ourselves."

"I'll have Spencer get them to you as soon as possible," Wesley said, realizing that he had lost this battle.

"Good," was all Hotch said before turning his back and leaving the conquered captain in his wake.

* * *

Spencer felt like he was going to suffocate if he didn't get out of the building fast enough. The weight of the world seemed to have settled on his chest and it was crushing all of the air out of his lungs.

He barely felt the cool glass of the main doors on his hand as he pushed them open and rushed outside. Knowing that he couldn't go home yet or else he would be in even bigger trouble, he quickly walked around the building and into the narrow alley that housed the station's dumpsters.

Heedless of the vile smell emanating from the garbage bins as their contents cooked in the hot Nevada sun, he made his way down to the end and crouched in the corner where the brick building met a chain-linked fence.

Reid, bent over and clutched his head in his hands, grabbing his hair in his fingers and pulling it harshly. He felt like his head was going to explode from the overwhelming emotions that were bouncing around in his brain.

Forcing himself to breath in and out slowly to avoid the panic attack that was rapidly building in his chest, he released his hold on his hair and rubbed his temples instead.

"I can't do this anymore…" he muttered, clenching his eyes shut at the memory of what Detective Cox had just said.

"_Don't think you're in the clear because I didn't come and collect from you yesterday. The captain promised me a piece of your tight ass and I intend to take it. So don't go too far 'cause my cock is already leaking at the thought of making you scream."_

"I won't do it!" Reid shouted to what he thought was an empty alley.

"What won't you do, kid?"

The sound of Agent Morgan's voice startled Reid so much that he jerked his head back into the brick wall in order to look up.

"I-I…what are you doing here?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"I needed to get out of there before I decked your boss and…I wanted to check up on you," he said, his voice going soft as he said the last part of his sentence.

"Why?"

"You seem like you're having a bad day and everybody needs someone to talk to when things just aren't going their way," Morgan said, trying to play off his growing concern for the young man.

Reid slowly stood up from his crouched positon and trained his gaze on the agent's shoes. "You just met me…"

"So? That doesn't mean I don't care – that I don't want to help."

Spencer scoffed. No one ever wanted to help him.

"Come on, kid. Why don't you start by telling me how you got that shiner?"

At the reminder of his black eye, the genius raised his hand and gently touched the tender skin. "You heard Captain Wesley…I got hit last night at the bar."

"Right and I'm the tooth fairy. Why don't you tell me what really happened?"

The young man squinted his eyes as if he was trying to figure something out, "You know…your comment doesn't really make sense. Because if you have kids and you buy into the tradition of leaving them some money under their pillow whenever their baby teeth fall out then in all actuality you are the tooth fairy."

The boy saw an opening to continue and believing that it would deter the agent from his line of questioning he went on to inform the agent about all things related to the tooth fairy.

"Did you know that the legend of the tooth fairy originated in Europe where at first it was a tradition to bury children's baby teeth as they fell out? But at that point in time the child would only receive money after their sixth tooth popped out, whereas here in America today we give kids money after each tooth comes free. Speaking of which, there was a toll taken in 2013 asking parents how much money they give per tooth and on average American children earn –"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa – Pretty Boy – while this is fascinating and all, I'd rather you just answer my question," Morgan said, holding up his hands to halt the boy's tangent.

The tortured soul bit his lip and wrapped his arms around his tiny waist. "Would you stop calling me that? I-I know that I-I'm not anyone's definition of pretty and it's just cruel of you to keep shoving it in my face. E-especially now…now that I look like this…"

Morgan was a bit taken aback by the young man's request, "I never meant anything by it Pre-uh Spencer. I just tend to give people nicknames that I feel suits them."

The boy snorted, "Yeah, well this time you chose one that is way off the mark."

"Now don't talk about yourself like that. I mean, I'm as straight as they come but even I can admit that your features are beautiful. You are pretty."

"Would you please just stop saying that?" Spencer growled.

"Alright-alright. I'm sorry and it won't happen again," the man conceded, as he put his hands up in surrender.

"Thanks…I-um-I should probably be getting back inside now," Reid stated.

Unfortunately for Reid, Morgan wasn't about to let the young man leave yet. "Wait! You still didn't answer my question," he said, stepping into the center of the alley in an effort to block the boy's escape.

Reid felt a panicky feeling start to tingle in his body as the hulking agent planted himself in front of him, effectively cutting off the only exit he had. He shut his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, reminding himself that the agent wasn't going to hurt him.

"Are you okay, kid?" Morgan's smooth voice asked, cutting off Reid's alarmed thoughts.

"I-I'm fine. I just need to get back to work," he replied, trying to play off his feelings of fright. "So, if you could just get out of my way…"

"Alright, I get it…you don't want to talk to a stranger about your problems. But at least tell me that you have somebody you can go to," Morgan said, stepping aside in order to let the boy through.

Reid focused his confused brown orbs on Morgan and before he could even filter his words, "Why do you care?" spilled out of his mouth.

"Because someone has too," the agent answered, realizing too late that he said the wrong thing.

"So what - I'm your charity case now? Thank you but no thank you Agent Morgan. I don't need your sympathy and I don't need your help. I've gotten along fine on my own up until now and I'll be fine long after you're gone," Spencer spat out vehemently.

"No-I-I didn't mean it that way. Kid, just hear me out-"

"No, I don't think I will. Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to do that can't wait any longer," the genius hissed, walking past the profiler with a look of determination on his face.

"Like reporting your rape to someone who'll take you seriously?"

Spencer froze in his tracks.

"I may not know you very well, Spencer, but I am a profiler and what I heard in that office earlier was not you and your boss going over dictation notes. Look kid, your face is bruised from where your attacker tried to knock you into submission. Your neck has faint bruising that the collar of your shirt is too short to cover. You have ligature marks around your wrists that you keep trying to hide by pulling down your sleeves. And most telling of all is the slight hitch in your step as you walk which indicates that you're hurting below the belt more than you'd care to acknowledge. You were raped last night and your boss Wesley couldn't give two shits about it. So when you're ready for help – when you finally swallow your pride and admit you need help - I'll be right here to lend you a hand. Because like I said earlier, everybody needs someone to lean on when things aren't going their way, and I'm willing to be your support. Believe me, I've been there…I know what it's like," Morgan declared, hoping that the assistant would accept his offer.

The boy was momentarily silent as he allowed the man's words to sink into his brain. Part of him wanted to believe the agent and just spill his guts to him and the other part said he'd be a fool to accept help from someone who would be gone in the next few days. "Anyways, he wouldn't want to help once he found out truth about me. He'd realize that I'm not worth it," he whispered too low for the profiler behind him to hear.

Convinced that no good could come from trusting this F.B.I. agent, Spencer straightened his body up and fixed his clothes. "I'm sorry Agent Morgan but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes you do, kid. And soon enough you're going to realize that you can't face something this difficult on your own."

"Look agent, I've accepted the things I cannot change - the things I can't stop from happening, and just yesterday I figured out a way to deal with them. So please, stop worrying about me and just focus on the men and women you can save," Spencer said cryptically as he left the stunned profiler standing in the malodorous alley.

* * *

**Soooo...I know that many of you were hoping for a Morgan beat down but this was never supposed to be the spot where Reid's problems were laid out on the table. I'm still nudging the team closer to Reid and pushing our favorite genius to a point where he'll have no other choice but to accept their help/want their help. So I hope you'll keep reading!**

**On that note, I just wanted to let you guys know that the reason my updates have been so slow lately is because if have been abnormally tired. I mean I am having a hard time just reading at night let alone writing when I get home from work. At first I was really concerned about this overwhelming sense of lethargy but two weeks ago my husband and I discovered we are going to be bringing another child into this world! That's right, I'm preggers again and like last time this first trimester is wiping me out. I hope the endless need for sleep leaves me soon but please be patient while I try to keep writing and battling exhaustion all at the same time.**

**Till next time!**


	8. Confrontation

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks so much for all your support and well-wishes. I am still feeling extremely tired but rest assured I am still working on this story.**

**Thanks for all the reviews, adds, follows and favorites! They really help motivate me even when all I want to do is sleep.**

**Please forgive my mistakes! Know that they are unintentional.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Morgan stood dumbfounded in the middle of the sizzling hot alley. He knew that the kid really needed some help for the signs of abuse were written all over his face in black and blue writing. Unfortunately, the biggest obstacle stopping the profiler from coming to the rescue was the boy's low opinion of himself. He had honestly never met someone that had so little self-worth.

The agent's stupor was broken when a rare gust of wind blew down the alley, forcing the putrid smell of rotting garbage straight up the man's nose.

"Oh, that is disgusting," he declared, pinching his nostrils together and trying to breath in through his mouth. Derek quickly decided that he should vacate of the narrow stretch between the precinct and the next building before another waft of putrescent air invaded his nostrils.

He walked back into the building and made his way to the bathroom in order to take care of his original reason for leaving the conference room.

A few minutes later he was walking back into his team's headquarters, "Did I miss anything?"

Three heads turned toward the sound of his voice but Prentiss was the first to speak.

"What happened? Did you fall in?" she teased, her full red lips breaking into a smile.

"No," he answered with a tone that said her joke was lame.

"Well, where have you been? Don't tell me the breakfast burrito we had this morning was bad?"

"No-uh, nothing like that…I-uh-I got distracted with something involving Wesley and his assistant," he said, purposefully being vague. "Where's Hotch?"

"We haven't seen him since he went to find you," Rossi stated, tipping back in his chair with his fingers tented in front of him. "What happened with Wesley?"

"I'll wait till Hotch gets back and then I'll answer that."

"Fair enough," the older man said.

"So did I miss anything?"

"Not really. We were just mapping the location of the latest victim and trying to see if it changed the geographical profile," Prentiss said as she got up and went to stand by the map.

"Did it?"

"Well…from what we can see, it looks like there are two distinct comfort zones that our unsub utilizes," Rossi said from his seat.

"That's extremely rare and unlikely. Can't we merge the two zones into one?" Morgan asked.

"We tried that but if you look, the patterns really do speak for themselves. There are two," JJ added, going up and pointing out the distinctions to Derek.

Morgan approached the board and analyzed his team's findings. "Huh, so are we still sure it's one unsub then? Because based on this information I'm leaning toward two."

Rossi glanced at each of the girls before answering the muscular man's question, "We just came to the same conclusion."

Morgan turned away from the board and looked at his teammates, "So now we're hunting two serial killers? Both of whom just so happen to enjoy taking out prostitutes."

"Well, prostitutes are low risk victims and if they are just starting out they might not be confident enough to escalate to riskier targets," JJ suggested.

"Or they're in competition with each other…," Morgan trailed off for a moment before an idea popped into his head. "I mean look…victim one was abandoned in the western comfort zone while victim two was dumped in the east. And then look at the order the victims were killed in…"

Prentiss peered at the little flags affixed to each of the locations, "They were alternating kills."

Morgan nodded, "How didn't we notice this before?"

"Because we thought it was only one unsub before…now the dump site patterns make sense," Prentis reminded him.

"Yeah but I should have recognized this…JJ, Hotch and I have worked on a case like this before. Remember?" he asked the blonde.

"The Mill Creek Killer and the Hollow Man," she answered.

"Exactly," he said.

"But that was a teacher/student relationship. This doesn't feel the same," she said to him.

"True. This case is a bit different but we can definitely revisit our old notes and see if there is anything from that case that can help us now. But first things first, we need to figure out where all of these girls were taken from. Let's see if they were dumped in the same area that they worked," Morgan proposed.

"How are we going to do that?" JJ asked. "You know they won't talk to us."

Prentiss was quick to support JJ's question, "She's right. Those girls always zip their lips at the very sight of us. I doubt we'll be able to get any information out of them."

"Even if we show them pictures of their fallen comrades?" Rossi asked, challenging their point.

"Eh…we might find one or two who will talk after being confronted with pics," Emily conceded.

"Then that's what we'll do. You'll go out there in teams of two and canvass the area. See if you can find someone willing to give us some more information on our victims. Our main goal is to find out where they typically worked and if you're lucky see if you can find out who they work for. JJ, you'll go out with Morgan and Prentiss with Rossi," Hotch ordered from his spot by the door, where he had been observing the team's conversation over the last few minutes.

Four sets of eyes quickly trained their gazes on the unit chief.

Hotch didn't even notice their looks as he glanced down at his watch, "We'll all meet back here in three hours and go over our findings."

The girls started to stand up from their seats in order to leave on their assignment when Rossi halted their progress, "Before we go, are you two going to fill us in on what's going on with that _bastardo_ of a captain?"

The unit chief looked over at his subordinate, his face not the least bit phased at the fact that his subordinate hadn't said anything yet, and nodded at him.

Morgan heaved a sigh and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I was on my way to the bathroom earlier when I overheard a conversation that was occurring in Wesley's office. Long story short, a victim was in the middle of telling the captain that they had been raped when the asshole cut them off and called them a whore. He basically said that getting fucked was their job and that prostitutes can't be raped."

JJ's mouth was agape at the news, while Rossi was stone-faced. Prentiss, on the other hand, muttered a curse before stating, "You can't be serious."

"Wait, it gets worse," Morgan growled as the memory of what he heard pissed him off again.

"How?" JJ asked in disbelief. "Don't tell me he arrested her for solicitation?"

"No, and it wasn't a she," Morgan corrected.

The profiler watched as his three teammates started to connect the dots.

Rossi sat up straight in his chair, "Hold on a second. Didn't you say that you were distracted by something that was happening between Wesley and his assistant?"

Morgan pursed his lips before answering with a half-hearted, "Yeah."

Prentiss pushed up out of her seat and peered out the window at the lanky boy typing away intently at his desk. "Look at him. He's been beaten," she told the others.

JJ and Rossi took a look for themselves and saw the deep bruising surrounding the young man's eye and his worn down exterior.

Rossi was the first to speak. "So what happened when you confronted Wesley and the kid?" he asked, knowing that Morgan hadn't stood by quietly after hearing the captain's crude comment.

"Wesley tried to play it off by saying they were reviewing a dictation that the kid need to type up but it was more than obvious he was lying."

"What did Spencer say?" JJ asked.

"Not much really…he looked petrified and just went along with whatever Wesley had to say."

"And where do you come into all of this, Hotch?" Rossi asked.

"I came in right as Morgan began to lose it on Captain Wesley," Hotch said stoically.

Morgan winced at the reminder, "Yeah…sorry about that. It was just…he was just trying to shut the kid down and it was pissing me off."

The unit chief waved his hand, dismissing Derek's worry. "I took care of it this time…but try to not let it happen again."

"Got it," Derek said sheepishly.

Hotch let a small smile adorn his lips, secretly proud of the younger agent for stepping in and trying to stop the injustice that was occurring in that office. "Anyways, I saw what was about to happen and stepped in to diffuse the situation. Wesley gave me the same excuse and when I tried to question his assistant the captain became extremely defensive. He dismissed Spencer and then Morgan left soon after."

"And then?" Rossi prodded.

"And then I had a much needed discussion with Captain Wesley about his role in this case and how he wasn't living up to expectations," Aaron explained stoically.

The elder profiler chuckled at the unit chief's words, "Much needed, huh?"

The others smirked, each knowing that a much needed conversation with Hotch wasn't something that anyone wanted to experience.

"Okay, so what is the end result of all of this? Does it help solidify our suspicions from yesterday?" Prentiss asked.

Morgan sighed again and picked up his end of the story. "Yes…no…I don't know...I mean...nothing about this makes sense. But I will say this, after what I witnessed today I completely agree with what you two said yesterday…Wesley is totally bullying the kid into silence and he is definitely trying to cover something up. Why else would he sweep the kid's rape under the rug?"

JJ's azure eyes went wide, "Yesterday you guys said that Wesley might retaliate against Spencer if he talked to us…do you think the captain hired someone to rape him to remind him to stay quiet?"

Morgan blew out a huge breath of air at her question, "I wasn't there for the whole conversation but from what I heard it was more like he just didn't give a shit that the kid was injured…he told the kid it was his own fault for being a whore. There was no mention of staying quiet or anything like that."

"He actually called him a whore?" Prentiss asked with a wince.

"Word for word? He said that getting fucked was the kid's job. That it wasn't his fault that Luthor's boy stole from him instead of paid him. And then he said all that stuff about how whores can't get raped," Morgan said, repeating the conversation he overheard.

"Damn…," she muttered. "It's enough that he was raped and beaten last night but for his superior to totally write off his report and blame him for it, he's got to be as crushed as he looks."

"He definitely isn't taking it well," Morgan declared. "I went outside to try to talk to him and get him to open up…but that kid is the most obstinate thing I've ever met. He told me not to waste my time and to focus on the people I can save."

"Well if that's not all doom and gloom then I don't know what is," Rossi quipped. The older man then swiveled his chair around to face Hotch. "I think we need to go ahead with what we talked about yesterday and try to gain the boy's trust. It's obvious he needs help and it looks like whatever he's hiding could really impact this case. We need to move it from the backburner to the front."

"Agreed," Hotch said straightforwardly. "Though at this point I'm not sure who he'll open up to the easiest; so if any of you find an opportunity to get him talking, take it. Until then we have to continue on as we were and follow the leads we already have. Therefore, I still need you all out there questioning anyone walking the streets for information."

The team nodded their understanding and paired off before heading out to work. Hotch watched them all leave before getting on the phone and calling Garcia.

"What can I do for you, my fearless leader?" she trilled over the line.

"Garcia, I need you to look someone up for me. I want anything you can find on them. Don't leave anything out, no matter how mundane," he ordered.

"No problem, Boss-man. Who is our unlucky suspect?"

"Not a suspect…potential victim. His name is Spencer Reid."

* * *

Spencer raised his arms and stretched them above his head, tipping back in his chair in the process. It had been a couple of hours since Spencer had kept his head down and ignored Agent Morgan as he walked by him on his way to the profiler's conference room. Since then he hadn't left his seat once and his body was feeling it.

The assistant glanced over the profilers' conference room and was surprised to notice that it was dark and vacant. "That's weird," he murmured, looking around for any sign of the agents. He had never seen the room empty since all of the agents had gotten there. The group had always made sure at least one profiler was left behind to coordinate everyone's efforts or record new findings.

He was about to turn back to his work when his eye caught sight of the snack table he had set up for the agents before they had gotten to Vegas. The table that was once bursting with various type of food to nibble on was almost completely wiped out. Apparently the profilers hadn't had enough time to bother with getting real meals and they had been living off of the proffered snacks instead. So, knowing that it was up to him to replenish their food, he pushed himself up out of his chair and went to gather fresh supplies.

It didn't take the genius long to get what he needed and he soon found himself inside the dark conference room adding more bags of chips and cookies to the basket that housed them. From there he topped off their coffee supplies by setting out additional Styrofoam cups and sugar packets.

After he was done he stood in the dark and took note of the highly organized room. Spencer was impressed with the degree of precision the profilers used when arranging their data. Everything had a place, and everything was in its place.

It was then that Spencer's one major flaw caught a hold of him and caused him to veer of course; it was his overwhelming sense of curiosity.

Up on the board he saw the pictures of the victims and his heart broke when he registered both Vixen and Uniq's smiling faces staring back at him. Unable to help himself he approached the evidence board and started reading through all the notes that the agents had made.

He was halfway through information when his eyes landed on the newest piece of evidence to join the board. The young man let out a pained gasp at the sight of the picture staring back at him.

"Exquisite! No…no…I just saw you last night," he cried out, reaching up and tugging her image off of the evidence board.

Spencer didn't understand how this could have happened when he was with Joe, Luthor's hitman, for most of the night. "This just doesn't make any sense…," he muttered to the picture, tracing his friend's face with his fingers.

"What doesn't make any sense?"

The assistant jumped at the sound of Agent Hotchner's voice, dropping the picture as he twisted his body around to find the man standing behind him.

"I-uh…nothing…it's nothing, sir."

"You're not acting like it's nothing," Aaron said as he bent over and picked up the picture of the latest victim.

"I-I'm sorry. I-I should be going," Spencer stammered, his wide eyes watching as the unit chief tacked the photo back up on the evidence board.

"Actually," Hotch said emotionlessly, "I was hoping that we could talk."

"Y-you want to talk to me?"

"Yes."

"Why? I don't know anything. I'm just an assistant. I-I'm sorry if your angry at me being in here without you guys around but I was just restocking your coffee supplies and snacks."

"And looking at our case notes in the process?"

The younger man hung his head. "About that…I-I'm sorry…I just wanted to see…," he explained, flushing at how childish his excuse sounded.

Aaron waved his hand dismissively as he half sat on the table behind him. "And in the process of seeing you noticed something wrong with our findings. Yes?"

"I-I-uh…It has nothing to do with the case, sir."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Hotch said firmly. "Or is there a reason you feel you need to obstruct our investigation?"

"Obstruct?" Spencer asked in alarm. "I-I'm not obstructing your case."

"Don't," Hotch said harshly, tossing the file folder he was clutching in his hand at the assistant. "I know perfectly well that you are a very intelligent young man and that you are well aware that if you know something that pertains to this case and you refuse to tell us what it is than you are in fact obstructing our progress."

"What is this?" Reid inquired, picking up the folder and opening it to see his face greeting him on the cover sheet. "Did you-did you look into my files?"

"Yes."

"But you can't! That's private information and you have no right to just go combing through my background like that!" Spencer cried, outraged at the agent's audacity.

Hotch's eyes narrowed sharply, "We have every right to do research on someone that may be involved in our case."

"Involved in your case? Wait," he paused before asking, "Am I a suspect?"

"Shouldn't you be? I mean, looking through that file has been very revealing. You're a child prodigy who was abandoned by his father at the age of 10. You were left to take care of your mother alone until a concerned neighbor stepped in, Bernie Wesley. He adopted you and took over your mother's care in order to give you access to better opportunities than what awaited you. But for some reason you didn't take advantage of Wesley's kindness and chose to burn out after you graduated from high school at the ripe young age of 12. After graduation you didn't apply to colleges, rather you squandered your talents away on the streets of Vegas. In fact, you were arrested multiple times between the ages of 15 and 18 for petty theft, drug possession and solicitation. Then at 19 your adopted father, Captain Wesley, got tired of your antics and decided to set you straight by getting you a job here in order to keep a close eye on you. Since then your record has been clean. Thanks to your father, I'm sure."

Spencer felt his whole body tingle with anger as he listened to his teenage years get relayed to him so succinctly. The agent in front of him didn't even know a third of the assistant's life story, just what he had read in a file that Wesley had doctored up a long time ago to prevent him from pursuing a better life. "So what? That doesn't mean I've been going out at night hunting prostitutes."

"No…you're right about that. But it's not hard to make a connection between you and the murders. Perhaps you're angry that your daddy is keeping you under his thumb. Maybe you are going out at night and letting it out on others. Or…since the kills all fall under his jurisdiction, you could be trying to make him look bad. Is that is? Do you want your father to lose his job? Are you trying to bring him down to your level?" Hotch prodded purposefully. Internally the unit chief was cringing at his accusations. He knew that this scared boy in front of him couldn't have possibly committed any of the murders but right now he was exploiting the kid's fear in order to make him talk.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Spencer seethed.

"Don't I? It's all right there. You're whole life story."

Reid looked down at the file that he was crushing between his fingers. "My whole life story," he repeated, his voice sounding slightly hysterical. "You really think you know all about me and the life I've had to lead because your people were able to put together a few sheets of paper on me? You honestly think that my life is as cut and dry as what is written here?" Spencer held up the file and shook it back and forth as tears of fury started welling in his eyes. "I-I really don't know what to say. I-I can't believe that the F.B.I. is so narrow minded…to think that you're actually entertaining the idea of me being the killer based on this one file." He threw the file down on the floor at the agent's feet. "Here, you can have it back. I don't need it. I know what it says because I lived through it."

The genius started stalking towards the doorway, struggling to keep the saltwater from dropping down his cheeks and humiliating him further. "I'm done talking. If you really think you have enough evidence to arrest me then do it, otherwise you and your people can leave me alone."

He was almost out of the door when Hotch's voice called out to him in a somewhat softer tone, "Spencer, we know that you didn't do it."

The boy's lanky body halted its progress but didn't turn around.

"You're right. We don't just base our profiles off of what we read in a file. Our job requires us to look deeper and dig around. We have to go beyond face value to see the real person and that's when we start to form our profile and make our conjectures."

Spencer slowly turned around and met the unit chief's dark eyes.

"So like I said, we know you aren't our unsub."

Relief shined in the boy's eyes. "Then why…why did you look into my past?"

"Because we can tell that you are somehow involved in this case…we just don't know how yet."

Reid gulped down the knot that was forming in his throat. "I'm not though…"

"You know something. I can see it in your eyes."

Ashamed that his body was giving away his secrets, Spencer broke his gaze with the older man and turned away again. "Look, those girls were my friends, alright. I cared about them…and now…and now they're gone. That's all."

"You and I both know there's more to it than that."

He shook his head back and forth before stepping out of the room. "No agent, there isn't."

"You know, your reaction to the newest victim's photo was indicative of how much you care about those girls. How will you feel when the next one dies and you could have done something to prevent it?"

The genius stood on the other side of the entryway, torn as to what to do. He really wanted to spin around and tell the agent everything he knew; he didn't want to be the reason anyone else died. But Agent Hotchner had no idea what would happen to Spencer if he did squeal on Wesley. Bernie had many choices on how he could punish his ward and he wasn't afraid to use them. In the end he said the only thing he could, "I can't."

"You can't or you won't?" Hotch shot back.

"No, _I_ can't," he said, his tone of voice pleading with Hotch for understanding.

"We can protect you from whatever it is that has you so scared," Hotch promised, desperate not to let this opportunity escape him.

"No, _you_ can't. No one can," was all that the boy said as he left the profiler sitting alone in the dark.

* * *

**So, things are going to pick up from here. There are a few key plot points coming up that will push the story along. Hope you stick around to see what happens!**


	9. Good Intentions

**Hi Friends!**

**Short a/n this time because I've gotta get going. I just wanted to post before I went out for the night.**

**Thanks for all the reviews, follows and adds! I love you guys!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The morning came faster than Spencer's bruised body would have liked, even though it was the first night in ages since he had gone to bed at a normal time. Unfortunately, it seemed like he had just flopped his head down against his pillow when the alarm started blaring its annoying tune.

Ever a slave to his duty, the young man got up and started his day.

The second he sat up the welts on his back started screaming in protest. Trying his best to ignore the fiery pain, the abused genius made his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He gingerly stripped off his pajamas, mindful of the fabric rubbing up against the angry wounds covering almost every inch of his body. He reached his hand into the water to test the temperature and was pleased to find it borderline hot. Not wanting to waste the precious liquid, he hopped underneath the stream and soaked his sore skin.

All too soon the warm water started to fade, signaling an end to his shower. He turned the nozzle to the off position and grabbed the towel from where he had left it on the back of the toilet. He was in the middle of drying himself off when he finally caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror over his sink.

Spencer's brown eyes went wide when they registered the vivid blue bruise covering his eye. It seemed as though the coloring that had painted his face yesterday had been turned up a notch overnight, causing the livid marks to jump out more against the pale hue of his gaunt face.

He dropped the towel and leaned forward to take a closer look. His skinny fingers traced the outline of the large bruise, pressing gently against the tender skin to test the extent of the injury.

The young man then opened the mirror, revealing the medicine cabinet housed behind it. He reached in and grabbed the container of concealer he had bought online. He quickly dabbed on some of the feminine product in order to somewhat dull the dark blue shading. He knew that the make-up wasn't going to work a miracle and disguise the bruising altogether, but he hoped that maybe he wouldn't get as many stares on the subway if he reduced its visibility.

After that he got dressed and grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen. The weight of the day was already sitting on his shoulders as he slowly trudged over to the door and slid his feet into his shoes. He picked his messenger bag up off the floor and checked its contents. Satisfied that he had everything he needed, Reid opened the door and braced himself to face the day.

* * *

The morning was filled with the hustle and bustle that was typical to any metropolitan police department. Spencer found himself multitasking the whole time as he tried to churn out various reports for the detectives and Captain Wesley. And like yesterday, he kept his head down and let his work to consume him.

It wasn't until noon that he had any actual interaction with another human being, and unfortunately it was Captain Wesley that burst his solitary bubble. Up until then he had been able to do all of his communicating via emails and he had been going out of his way to avoid making eye contact with any of the profilers.

"Reid, get off your lazy ass and go offer those agents some lunch," the man spat at his subordinate after he emerged out of the F.B.I.'s conference room, closing the door behind him.

"W-what?" he stuttered, surprised at the request.

"You heard me," he snarled. "That jackass Agent Hotchner had the nerve to tell me yesterday that I was being uncooperative and avoiding them, so all morning I've been in there kissing their asses. I'm done; it's your turn now. So get in there, show them a few take-out menus and get them some fucking lunch."

The last thing Spencer wanted to do was go into that room and be surrounded by a bunch of people who were now privy to his background and police records. He could already feel their eyes judging him throughout the morning every time they walked by his desk. Now he was going to have to actually interact with them as if nothing was wrong. "Yes, sir," he said dolefully.

"And don't say anything stupid while you're in there. Those bloodhounds are already suspicious of us enough as it is. Just go in there and act normal…well…not your kind of normal…fuck…this is a bad idea. But I don't have the time to go get them lunch myself. I've been playing hospitality manager all morning and I've got real work waiting on my desk for me," he muttered to himself, indifferent to the fact that Spencer could hear him. "Ah fuck it. Just go take their order and get them the food. Don't engage them in any sort of case related conversation. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," he said again, dutifully.

The captain looked the young man up and down, as if searching for a weakness, before shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Goddammit…this fucking investigation is going to be the end of me," he stated as he walked away.

Reid waited until he heard Wesley's door close before he got up from his desk. He went over to the break-room and rummaged through one of the junk drawers, pulling out three different menus. With shaking hands, he slowly trudged to the conference room and timidly knocked on the door.

Whether or not the profilers actually heard his knuckles rapping on the wood or they saw him standing there through the window, he didn't know. But the door opened seconds later, revealing the pretty blonde agent smiling brightly. "Come in! You didn't have to knock. This is more your station than ours."

He gave her a forced smile as he stepped through the doorway. He glanced up briefly and caught Agent Hotchner's eyes before averting his gaze down to the menus in his hands. "The uh-Captain Wesley said that you guys might be hungry. I-uh-I brought you some menus to look through. Just let me know what you want and I'll go get it."

The room was silent for a few moments before Rossi finally spoke up, "Ah, are you going to let us look through those, son?"

Spencer felt his face heat up when he realized he was still clutching the menus in his hands. He looked up sheepishly and said, "Uh-yeah…sorry. Here you go."

He held them out to JJ and she smiled as she took them from his hands. "Thanks!"

"You're welcome," he mumbled as he slowly backed out of the room.

"Hey, kid. Where are you going?" Morgan called from his seat at the table.

Startled by the question, Reid furrowed his brow and met the agent's gaze. "I-uh-was going back to my desk. Just bring me a list and I'll take care of it."

"No way," Prentiss piped up. "You need to stay in here and tell us which of these places has the best food. I don't want to get stuck with something disgusting again, like those breakfast burritos we had yesterday morning," she said, giving an exaggerated shudder off after mentioning the previous day's dubious sustenance.

The team could visibly see the boy's hesitation at Prentiss's request to stay. Rossi, being one of the most outspoken of the group decided to take charge of the situation.

"Yeah, do tell us which of these fine establishments actually makes edible food. Because since we landed here yesterday the cuisine choices have left more to be desired. I mean, who really names their restaurant "Leon's Feed Bag?" Do you guys seriously eat there?" he asked, waving the menu around mockingly.

Spencer shrugged, hating that he was the center of attention at the moment. "Those are the most popular places that the officers order from."

"Not you?" Dave asked, raising one eyebrow.

The young man was clearly uncomfortable with this line of questioning as he focused his gaze on his feet, "I-uh…I don't really eat out very much. You know…money and all."

"I see…"

"But I have had some leftovers that were sitting in the fridge before…from Szechuan House…they have good Chicken Lo Mein."

"Then Chinese it is," Rossi announced to the team.

Spencer, believing that his services were no longer needed, took his first step out of the room. Of course, he didn't make it far when Prentiss called out again to him, "What do you want from there, Reid? The Chicken Lo Mein again?"

He turned around and gave her a confused look. "I-I'm not getting anything."

"Sure you are," JJ said, jumping into the conversation. "We're not going to make you go get us food and not feed you too! Come here and pick something out."

"Yeah kid. We're not heartless," Morgan added.

"N-no…I-I don't have any money to pay for it…and I brought my lunch today," he awkwardly protested.

Rossi chuckled, "Your money is no good in here anyways. Quantico is going to foot this bill."

"I-I really couldn't."

"Come on. It's not like adding one more dish to our order is going to break the F.B.I.'s bank," Morgan joked.

"N-no-"

"Reid…just order something. We insist," Hotch commanded in a tone that clearly told Spencer not to argue about it anymore.

Startled at the harsh, yet kind, insistence of the Unit Chief, the boy spouted out an order, "I guess I'll just have some Egg Drop Soup and an eggroll."

"Chicken Lo Mein with soup and an eggroll it is," Prentiss repeated before flashing him a triumphant grin.

Reid couldn't help but smile back. "Alright…uh-thanks."

"No worries!" the raven haired beauty said. "I'll call it in too. Sometimes people around here get a little picky with their food and you could be on the phone for fifteen minutes trying to get through the whole order."

"Thanks again. Just let me know when it'll be ready to pick up and I'll get it for you guys," he said.

"Us," Hotch corrected.

Reid gulped and turned toward the agent. "Uh-what?"

"You said 'I'll get it for you guys,' but you're included in this too. So 'us' is the more appropriate word," he amended again.

"Okay…," he trailed off. "Us."

"Good. Now let's get this order put in so we can focus on the case," the profiler instructed his subordinates, turning back toward the evidence board. "Reid, Morgan will come and get you when it is time to go get the food."

Spencer nodded his understanding and finally exited the room. As he walked back to his desk he found himself smiling at the group of profilers' actions towards him. It had been a long time since anyone cared about whether or not he ate and it felt good to be included in their lunch.

Unfortunately, Wesley was standing next to his desk when he got back, waiting to rain on his parade. He had purposefully sent Spencer in there to see how he interacted with the FEDs.

With a snarl on his lips he hissed out, "Don't let their kindness fool you, boy. They don't give a shit about you; nobody does. They're just trying to get you to let your guard down. So keep your mouth shut and don't fall for their tricks or else you're going to end up at the same facility as your mother. I promise you that."

Downtrodden by the man's words, Spencer submissively bowed his head and said, "Yes, sir."

Satisfied with his adopted son's acquiescence, Wesley threw down a few more files and walked away.

* * *

Spencer only had the chance to look over one of the pieces of paper that had been strewn across his desk when Agent Morgan walked out and said, "Okay, kid. Let's get going."

"Huh?"

Morgan flashed him a quirky smile and said, "Yeah, Prentiss ordered the food and they said it would only take like ten minutes. I figured we should leave now and by the time we get there it'll be ready."

"You're coming?"

"Uh…yeah. There's no way you're going to be able to carry everything by yourself. We ordered a ton."

"No-that's really not necessary. I'll be fine," Reid protested, feeling ill-at-ease at the idea of Morgan joining him.

Derek's smiled faded at the kid's objection. He knew that his presence was unnerving but he wasn't about to pass up another opportunity to get through to the assistant. "Look, I get it. Alright? You don't really want to be around us and all…but Hotch told me to come with you. If you'd like to go and argue with him about it, be my guest."

Spencer felt his insides twist at even the idea of confronting the foreboding agent and decided that dealing with Morgan would be the lesser of the two evils. He sighed exaggeratedly, "No…it's fine. It won't take us that long…I guess."

"Alright! Let's get going." The muscular agent clapped the scrawny kid on the back in a playful manner but immediately took in the wince of pain that his gesture had invoked. "Oh hey…I'm sorry…I didn't realize that –"

"Don't worry about it," the boy said, cutting him off. He grabbed his bag and started walking out without another word.

Derek caught up with Spencer right outside the precinct's door. He followed behind the kid as he walked down the cement stairs and started off down the sidewalk. "Hey! We're not driving?" he asked incredulously.

Spencer stopped and turned to look at him. "Uh…no…it'll be faster this way."

"But it's like 108 degrees out here…we're going to pass out from heat exhaustion before we even reach the restaurant," he complained. The profiler could already feel beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead.

The kid grinned in amusement, "It's only 95 degrees and that's cool for this time of year. Besides…I don't have a license."

"I could – " Morgan started but stopped when he saw the boy's face start to redden in embarrassment. "Never mind. Lead the way…but I honestly don't know how you people can handle this heat. I mean, you're in a sweater vest and a long sleeved shirt."

At the reminder of his sleeves, Spencer automatically started to tug them down. He wasn't usually this covered up during summer, but hiding his wrist wounds were his top priority right now. "It really isn't that far. You'll – we'll be fine."

The agent responded with a grunt and dropped the subject.

It took them about eight minutes to dodge and weave through the bustling crowd that inundated the streets. A few times Spencer had to even step into the road to avoid being shoved out of the way by rude tourists and aggressive vendors. Morgan just trailed behind his guide and took in the scenery.

Soon the tacky sign of Szechuan House came into view; its big light bulbs flashing and blinking chaotically. Morgan sighed in relief at the sight of it, eager to get inside and let the cool air-conditioning wrap around his blistering skin like a wet blanket.

"String! Hey, String! Wait up!" shouted a shrill voice through the crowd.

Morgan, thinking it was just some tourist yelling at their friend, didn't think anything of it until he ran straight into Spencer's body.

"Something wrong kid?"

Reid, recognizing Kiki's voice, started looking back and forth trying to locate her. This was not the time or the place to meet up with his friend and he wanted to avoid her at all costs.

He quickly spotted her pushing through the crowd behind them. "Uh-no…nothing's wrong. Come on, it's right up here." He then picked up his pace and tried to disappear into the crowd.

As they walked up to the doors of their destination, Spencer glanced back once again to see if Kiki was still behind them and was pleased to note that she was gone.

Their order was waiting by the cash register when they walked up to the hostess. There were four bursting bags filled with food, making Spencer thankful that the agent had decided to tag along. After paying for their food they divvied up the load and made their way back out into the sweltering summer sun.

They hadn't even gotten twenty feet from the restaurant when Kiki's blonde locks stepped in front of them, blocking their progress.

"Hey String. Ya avoidin me now," she asked in a slightly hurt voice.

Spencer's mouth was opening to answer her when she noticed the bruises surrounding his eye. "Shit String…did Lamborghini do that to ya? Because if he did I swear to God I'll scratch the shit out his car the next time he pulls up to our corner."

Reid felt his heart start to thunder in his chest. He did not want to get into this with Kiki and he really didn't want Agent Morgan to hear all about his night job.

"I-I don't know what you mean," he stuttered slightly, trying to subtly tip his head in the profilers direction.

"Who's Lamborghini?" Morgan asked. The profiler had an inkling that this young woman in front of him had some valuable information on Spencer that he could use if he could get her talking.

Kiki looked over at the agent and crinkled up her forehead in confusion before looking back at Reid. Her eyes widened, "Oh…uh, I'm sorry String. Didn't realize you were workin right now."

Spencer went to correct her assumption but he was too late.

"And aren't you a catch," she flirted, catching Morgan's eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have any friends just like ya, would ya? Ya know, ones interested in the ladies?"

Morgan smiled wide at her comment, "If I'm a catch than you're a treasure, my dear."

Spencer, surprised at Derek's smooth-talking comment, decided he had to put a stop to this before Kiki went any further and ended up in jail for soliciting a Federal Agent. "Uh-Kiki, I'd like you to meet Agent Morgan."

"Agent?"

"Yeah, you know…from the F.B.I."

"F.B.I.? Shit String, did you finally decide to rat out Flat Dick? I mean, it's not like he doesn't deserve it! The bastard treatin ya the way he does – treatin all of us the way he does. Are they goin to protect you? Hey," she turned back to Morgan and held up her finger, pushing it into the center of his rock-hard chest, "You guys need to make sure String here is safe. I don't want Flatty tryin to hurt him because he squealed."

"Kiki!" Spencer cried out in alarm. "Stop!"

"No way, String," she admonished. "You know he'll try somethin."

Morgan, realizing that he was missing something, asked, "Who is Flatty? And why would he try to hurt you, kid?"

Spencer ignored Morgan's questions and shoved his bag into the agent's hands. He grabbed Kiki's arm and pulled her over to the alley. "I'll meet you back at the station agent," he called as they turned the corner out of sight.

"What the fuck, String?" Kiki asked when they were out of earshot.

Reid gave his friend a panicked look before answering, "I'm not ratting out Bernie. He…they….the FEDs don't know anything about that. They're just here to solve the murders…that's all!"

"But if they're here to look at Uniq and Vixen's murders than they're goin to find out about Flatty."

"No, they're not. Wesley's working with them and he's steering them toward Luthor and his goon," Reid explained.

"But…but this is ya chance to take him out. Come on String-Spencer…this could be ya big break," she said, her eyes pleading with him to take a chance.

"I can't," he said in defeat. "He's been watching me the whole time. He's afraid I'm going to talk. He has no idea I'm with Agent Morgan right now…and if he finds out…," Reid shuddered.

"Did he do this to ya?" she asked, reaching her had up to his face in concern.

He turned his head away from her fingers, "No…that's a different story. Look, I know you want me to turn him in, but he still…he still has control over my mom and I. My life is bad right now but…but he…he mentioned the facility again today…"

"Oh String…God, I hate 'im," she swore, her eyes looking glassy as she considered the implications of her friend being forced into an asylum.

"Me too…," he commiserated. "But-I-I got to go. I've got to run damage control with that profiler."

"I'm sorry I opened my big mouth," she apologized.

He shrugged, "You didn't know."

"Well, ya take care of yaself. Okay?"

"I will."

"Will I be seeing ya tonight?"

"Yeah, Bernie says I'm on the hook for $1,050 tonight. I need to make up coming up short the other night."

Her mouth dropped open, "But that's – String, that's impossible!"

"I know…but I don't have a choice. Look, I've really got to go. I'll see you later," he called, walking away with his head hung down in despair.

"Later," Kiki muttered as she watched one of her best friend's return to the miserable life he was forced to lead.

* * *

Spencer rounded the corner of the alley and was shocked to find Agent Morgan leaning against the brick wall waiting for him. He looked back at Kiki in the alley and then toward Morgan, trying to gauge whether or not the agent had overheard their conversation.

Morgan, who had spotted the boy right after he came out of the alley, looked at him and said, "Couldn't hear much. These streets are loud."

Reid nodded and reached to take back the bags he had been carrying.

The profiler pushed himself off the wall and started walking side by side with the assistant in silence.

It wasn't until they were right outside of the station that Morgan reached out his hand and grabbed Reid's forearm, stopping him cold.

"Who is Flatty and why is he threatening you?" he asked seriously.

Spencer stood in silence, looking down at the bags in his hand. He knew that Agent Morgan was intelligent and it wouldn't take long for him to piece together what he had overheard today with what Agent Hotchner had found out about him from his research.

Reid decided that he might as well tell an edited version of the truth and leave it at that. "Look, I have a night job and he's my boss. He likes things done a certain way and if anyone falls out of line…he…he reminds you of who's in charge. Kiki thinks he treats me worse than he does the others…but that's not really the case. She-she's really protective of me and sometimes she goes overboard trying to make sure I'm alright."

"And your boss…does his 'reminders' ever get physical?"

"Never," Spencer lied through his teeth.

"Right, kid…"

Spencer, ending the conversation before it could delve any deeper into his illicit profession, said, "The food is getting cold. We should get it in there before it needs to be microwaved."

Morgan, realizing that he wasn't going to get anything else out of Reid, said, "Yeah, I'm sure they're all chomping at the bit wondering where we've been." He then filed away all of the information he'd learned on his impromptu jaunt out with the boy into the back of his mind, knowing that what he heard today would definitely help with forming the kid's profile.


	10. Breaking Point

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks so much for your response to this story. I never expected it to be so well received...especially since I'm so horrible to Reid.**

**Anyways, this chapter has a nasty scene in it. I didn't make it too graphic but reader beware. I hinted that something like this may come up in the first few a/n...and well...here it is. I'm going to change the story rating to "M" just to be safe...but like I said it isn't as explicit as some of my other stories have been. Poor Spencer...**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Spencer followed Morgan back into the station and into the agents' conference room. When they arrived the four other profilers stopped what they were doing and immediately started to help distribute the food.

"Oh my God! This smells so good," Prentiss gushed as she opened one of the white boxes to look inside.

"Yeah, I didn't realize how hungry I was until now," JJ agreed, grabbing a plate and spooning some rice onto it.

"Oh here, I found the chopsticks," Prentiss told everyone before she started handing them out. "Hmm, looks like we have extra. I guess those will come in handy when you end up dropping yours on the floor, Morgan."

"Ha-ha. I flung them out of my hand one time three years ago and you still won't drop it," he retorted. "You've gotta find new material, girl."

She grinned, "It's new to Reid."

"Yeah, well I don't think Pretty Boy over there cares about whether or not I can handle chopsticks. Right, Reid?"

The only answer Morgan received was silence. He glanced behind him and saw that the scrawny young man was already back at his desk typing away. "Hey, did he get his food?"

"Not all of it," JJ said, holding up the assistant's soup.

Morgan grumbled something unintelligible in response and snatched the circular container from his friend's hand. "I'll take it to him."

"Morgan, why don't you let JJ do that," Hotch suggested.

The muscular profiler looked over at his boss. "Let her try to build some rapport with him," he explained.

"Okay," was all the agent said, acquiescing to his superior's directive. Morgan handed the soup back to the blonde and sat down at the table.

JJ took the container back with a smile and walked over to the boy's desk. "Hey, you forgot something," she said gently.

Spencer glanced up from his computer screen and looked at the profiler in confusion.

"Your soup," she said, holding it out to him.

He glanced at her hand and said, "Oh yeah…sorry. I forgot I ordered it."

"No harm done. Did you need anything else? We've got packets of soy sauce and hot and sour sauce in there if you want it."

Reid looked over at his half-eaten eggroll and said, "Some plum sauce would be nice."

JJ burst out in laughter at his request, causing the assistant furrow his brow.

"Uh-or not...," he said, perplexed as to why the girl was giggling.

She stopped chuckling when she heard the confusion in his voice. "Oh, no...it's not that. It's just that our tech analyst's boyfriend likes to call her 'Plum Sauce' and when you said that I started to imagine...," she paused and saw that he wasn't really following her. She smiled gently and patted his arm, "Don't worry about it; I'll go get you your sauce."

"Uh, okay…"

JJ went and grabbed the sauce from the office along with her plate full of food. When she got back to his desk she sat her food down on the corner and pulled up a nearby chair.

Spencer immediately asked, "W-what are you doing?"

"I like Plum Sauce too and they didn't give us a whole lot. I just figured I'd eat here with you and we could share it," she explained, grabbing the container and dunking one end of her eggroll in it.

"Y-you don't have to do that. I'll only use a little and then you can have it back," he said, pouring some of the sauce over his food.

"Well, I already sat down…so no biggie," she said with a smile, digging into her food.

The assistant was clearly uncomfortable with the company but he moved aside the papers he was working on and silently ate his food without complaint.

JJ enjoyed a few bites before she broke the silence that settled over them. "So…uh…how are you doing?"

Reid stopped mid-chew and forcibly swallowed what was in his mouth. "How am I?"

"Yeah…I mean those bruises look like they still hurt. So, after everything you've been through over the last few days, how are you holding up?"

He placed his fork down on his plastic plate and looked at the woman across from him. "Please don't."

Now it was JJ's turn to look confused, "Don't what?"

"Don't try to pry into my life like you care," he said, his words tinged with annoyance.

Her mouth hung open for a moment, "I-I do –"

"No, you don't. You're just out here on your boss's orders trying to gain my trust. Look, I know he showed all of you my files - my background. You guys know I'm smart. So I would appreciate it if you would all stop trying to trick me into talking about things that aren't any of your business. I can't help you and you can't help me – no, actually, I don't want your help. So, t-thank you for lunch but I've got work to do," he said dismissively, pulling out the file he was working on and pushing his unfinished plate of food off to the side.

The female profiler, knowing that she had hit a brick wall with the young man, murmured a quiet "Your welcome," and left him alone.

* * *

JJ went back into the conference room and shook her head at the other agents, signaling her failure to get through to the boy.

Hotch was the first to speak, "I figured it would be a long shot. He's too suspicious of us now." He then turned to Morgan, "What happened on your way to get the food?"

Morgan gobbled down the last few bites he had left on his plate and then recapped his journey out with Reid.

"So this woman, Kiki, thought that you were one of Reid's clients?" Prentiss asked, trying to mentally straighten out all the information Derek relayed.

"Yeah, she asked me if I had friends just like me that were interested in women. So she clearly thought I was about to enjoy his services."

Rossi spoke up next, "Then young Reid really is a prostitute…and based on the conversation you interrupted yesterday, Captain Wesley knows all about it."

"Then why is he condoning it? Why hasn't he stopped Reid from walking the streets?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, having a prostitute for a son can't reflect well on a high ranking officer," Prentiss said.

Morgan cleared his throat, "True, but the way Wesley was talking to the kid yesterday, it was more like he was making fun of him, mocking him really…he blamed him for being robbed by Luthor's boy. So is Luthor a local pimp? And does Reid work for his rival, Flatty?"

"Who's Flatty?" Hotch asked sternly.

"Oh, uh – when Kiki found out I was a Fed she asked Reid if he was finally turning in 'Flatty,' and then she asked me if I was going to make sure the kid was protected."

"Then Flatty must be Reid's pimp and possibly Kiki's too," Rossi mused.

Hotch pulled out his phone, "Garcia?"

"What can I do for my favorite action heroes?" she chirped

"Garcia, we need you to research the area for a pimp named Flatty," he ordered.

"Alright sir, but you do know that pimps don't really register themselves with the government or anything. It's not like I'll be able to put his name in a database and come up with his info lickety-split. I mean –"

"Garcia, we know," Hotch cut her off.

"Baby Girl, just start with newspaper articles or maybe police reports that mention someone named Flatty. Focus on cases that deal with prostitutes reporting rapes or abuse. And also look out for someone named Luthor," Morgan said.

"Gotcha! I'll do my best! Over and out!"

Hotch put his phone away and looked at his team. "Going back to Wesley and Reid…perhaps the captain isn't overlooking the fact that his adopted son is a prostitute…maybe he's getting a cut of the profits."

Prentiss sat up straighter in her chair. "That could be why he dismissed Reid's rape and flippantly called him a whore. He's monetarily invested in the kid's ability to make him some extra cash. We should have Garcia look into his finances and see if there is extra money flowing into his bank accounts."

"Yeah, or she could look to see if his purchases match his salary. I'm sure there's gotta be some signs that he is living well above the means of a police captain," Rossi noted as Hotch pulled out his phone to call their tech analyst back.

"You know this is all starting to make more sense. And it also explains why he has been so keen on keeping Spencer silent. He doesn't want the kid to reveal his secret source of income," Morgan added.

"And it also explains why the kid doesn't think we can help him. Going up against one of the highest ranking police officers in the precinct, who is his father no less, probably doesn't seem like a good idea. Especially if we kick the hornets' nest and nothing comes of it," Rossi said.

Prentiss nodded her head, "Exactly. If we accuse Wesley of being involved with a prostitution ring and nothing happens…who'll be left to deal with his wrath..."

"Spencer," JJ said. "But guys, I hate to ask but…what does this have to do with the dead prostitutes?"

"Well, we said earlier that there were two distinct comfort zones which led us to infer that there were two unsubs. Perhaps, and hear me out, perhaps we're looking at warring pimps. What if they're trying to eliminate their competition by killing off each other's workers?" Morgan proposed.

"That could be…but we need proof. Morgan, do you think you could go out and find Reid's friend Kiki? See if you can get some more information out of her," Aaron suggested.

"Yeah, good idea. I'll go out again tonight and see if I can find her."

"I can go with you," Prentiss offered. "She may already know who you are but sometimes having a female present will put a girl more at ease."

"Sounds good to me."

"Good. Until then let's continue to focus on what we already have and wait for Garcia to send us her findings," Hotch said, wrapping up the conversation succinctly.

* * *

A few hours later Reid watched out of the corner of his eye as Agent Morgan and Agent Prentiss left the station. He looked down the watch that was wrapped around his left wrist and saw that it was getting close to 7:00.

He knew it was time for him to finish up his work and go home to get ready for his night job. So he started to organize his desk and filed everything away into its appropriate place. As soon as he was done he pushed back in his chair and reached for his messenger bag.

Reid stopped short of grabbing it though. He glanced down at his watch and realized that it was going to take him a good 45 minutes to walk home and it would be longer if he waited for a bus. He let his hand drop away from its destination and stood up. He definitely needed to use the bathroom before he started his long arduous trek home because there was no way he was going to stop in at some random location and use their potentially disgusting facilities.

The bathroom was empty when he walked into it but one of the toilets in the stalls was going off. Reid, curious as to what was causing it, walked over the stall in question and pushed open the door. He saw that the metal handle was bent down at a severe angle, resulting in the toilet's constant flushing. He used his foot to try to force the handle level again but it seemed as though someone had broken the lever.

The genius, ever the germaphobe, decided that he didn't want to mess with the broken handle anymore and backed out of the stall. Spencer then went over to the urinal and started to take care of his business.

As he was in the middle of tucking himself back into his pants and zipping up a hand gripped the back of his neck and pushed his head straight into the tiled wall.

Reid's hands abandoned what they were doing and flew up to the wall. He must not have heard his assailant creep up on him due to the stupid broken toilet. Cursing his luck, he tried to push himself off of the tile but the strong grip that had a hold on his neck kept him glued there. "W-what –"

"Shut up, you filthy slut," growled a grizzled voice in his ear. "Did you really think I wasn't going to come and collect my dues?"

Spencer shut his eyes tight, his mind immediately recognizing the man's voice. "De-detective Cox."

"Who else, whore?"

"P-please don't do this," he whispered in vain.

"Please don't do this," Cox mocked. "Shit, I've been waiting for three days. Of course I'm going to do this. Now shut the fuck up."

The detective reasserted his dominance by pulling Spencer away from the wall and slamming him into it once again. Reid couldn't help but whimper as his already bruised flesh met the hard surface again.

The next thing he knew his knees were buckling from Cox aiming a swift kick to the back of each of them. He fell to the ground and scrambled away from the white porcelain basin. He had gotten a few inches away from urinal when Cox's hand grabbed the scruff of hair on the top of his head.

"Now here's what's going to happen. You're going to start by priming my pump with those dick-sucking-lips of yours. Do you get me?" he asked as he used his grip to force Reid to turn toward him.

The genius didn't have a chance to answer as his body was twisted around to face the other man. Cox had already pulled out his bulbous piece of flesh and it was right in Reid's line of sight. He could feel tears start to well at the corners of his eyes and decided to try to appeal to Cox one more time. "Please. T-this is wrong. I-I didn't agree to it. I-if you stop now I-I won't tell anyone. I promise."

Cox let out a loud bellowing laugh at the boy's plea. "Who the fuck would you tell anyways? Wesley? He's the one that set this up in the first place. There isn't anyone in this building that gives a fuck about what happens to you."

Reid knew the man was right and looked down at the ground in shame; he was just a filthy worthless whore.

A knock upside the head interrupted his self-loathing. He glared up at the man who was towering above him. Society may see him as a piece of rubbish but that didn't mean he had to debase himself for this vile man. He banished his tears and clenched his fists together in determination. "If you even think about putting that near my mouth then don't expect to get it all back."

The man snorted in disdain at the comment and pulled out his gun. "And if you even scrape it with the tip of your tooth I'll put an extra hole in your head."

A shiver ran down Spencer's spine at the man's threat. The barrel of the gun was pointed directly between his eyes and he could see the endless black tunnel that housed the bullet. He gulped down a breath of air and closed his eyes. "You wouldn't dare."

"You're right, kid. I wouldn't dare to shoot you here and now…but what I can do is bend you over and shove it up your ass. Would you like that? I'm sure the scrape of the front sight would leave a lasting impression. And then after you're all stretched out for me, I'll take what I came for anyways. So you can either open wide now or suffer the consequences," he taunted as he traced the tip of the gun along Reid's jawbone.

Spencer wasn't taking the detectives threat lightly and he knew that there was no way that he could overpower the man and escape his clutches. A small tear of frustration trickled out of his bruised eye as he dropped his chin in defeat.

Cox reached his free hand down and grasped Reid's jaw in his hand. He squeezed it tightly, forcing it open before he shoved himself inside the heated cavern.

Spencer's mind was swirling mess of tumultuous emotions as it tried to block out the horrid act he was being forced to partake in. Unfortunately, the his body's senses were running on overdrive and there was no way he could block out the musky smell, salty taste or the obscene moans of ecstasy that Cox was emanating as Reid worked him up into a frenzy.

Thankfully, the man had a short fuse and in a matter of minutes he pulled out of Reid and ordered, "Get your fucking pants off before I blow my load."

Spencer's wiped the saliva that was coating the area around his mouth. He could feel his hands shaking from stress as they cleared away the liquid that was covering his skin.

"Hurry the fuck up! We don't have all day. Someone's gonna start wondering why the bathroom door is locked," Cox snarled at the shell-shocked kid.

The tremors overtaking his fingers were too much and he found himself just fumbling with the zipper he had just fastened before Cox had interrupted him.

"Fucking A, you stupid shit! You can't even undo your own pants!" the detective barked, knocking Spencer's fragile body all the down onto the gritty tile. He easily flipped the boy onto his stomach and unhooked the button. The zipper let off a tiny swishing sound as it was pulled down by Cox's thick fingers. He then grabbed the kid's pants by the belt loops and pulled them down to his knees, boxers included.

Reid was desperately trying to push himself up off the ground while all this was happening but his arms felt like jelly and wouldn't support his weight.

After Cox was done messing with his victim's clothes he notice the boy's feeble struggles. He hated that even now the assistant was trying to defy him, so he grabbed the nape of Reid's swanlike neck with his free hand. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he asked as he pushed down hard, pinning the assistant to the ground. He watched with glee as Reid opened his eyes and tried to focus on the white tile, breathing erratically through his clenched teeth. "Don't act like you don't love this, whore. It's what you're made for," he jeered in the boy's ear.

A spark of anger that had been dormant in Reid since this whole thing began flared to life at the man's insulting words. "Fuck you!" he bellowed in defiance.

"Exactly," was all Cox hissed as he seated himself on the lanky legs that were rattling beneath him.

The detective reached down and grabbed his cock, giving it a few good pumps. The tussle with the boy had ignited his dominant side and his member was throbbing with excitement to get inside of his prize.

"This will hurt a lot, I promise," Cox goaded as he pulled back and lined himself up with his victim's backside. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes in anticipation.

As he started to plunge in a grizzled voice shouted out, sufficiently interrupting his quest for sex.

"F.B.I., freeze!"

Cox's face immediately lost all of its color at the words that were still echoing in the small space around him.

"Get off of the kid and put your hands in the air," Agent Rossi instructed, his voice alight with unabashed anger and his gun trained on the errant cop.

The detective did as instructed and scooted off of Reid. The second the weight left his body Spencer scuttled over to the corner by the sink, pulling up his pants in the process.

Rossi saw the kid's reaction out of the corner of his eye and longed to go see if he was alright. Unfortunately, he knew he needed to take care of the semi-naked scumbag standing before him first. "Pull up your damn pants," the Italian man ordered.

Cox covered himself up in no time and stood up from the ground. He kept his hands in the air and tried to speak, "Look agent, it's not what it looks like."

Rossi raised an eyebrow and said, "What? You mean you weren't about to rape the kid in the middle of the precinct bathroom?"

"Rape? No, no way. This was entirely consensual. Wasn't it Spencer, dear?" he asked, turning his gaze to the cowering kid.

Reid wiped his eyes and refused to meet either mans' gaze.

"Wasn't it Reid!?"

Dave saw the boy flinch at the demanding question and decided he didn't have time to watch the detective bully the young man into submission. "Detective, you are under arrest for assault and attempted rape. You have the right to remain silent –"

"This is bullshit. You can't arrest me if it was a consensual act. Goddammit Reid, speak up."

"Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?"

"Fuck – I demand you take me to Captain Wesley. He'll straighten you out," Cox ordered, snatching his hands away from Rossi as the veteran profiler tried to put handcuffs on him.

"Do you understand your rights?" was all David said in response, grabbing the man's hands roughly and forcing the metal bracelets around them.

"Dammit, yes. Now take me to Wesley," Cox insisted again.

"You don't have the right to demand anything but a phone call or a lawyer right now. And I'll take you where I damn well please," Rossi retorted, shoving the man over to the door. "Kid, clean yourself up and come and find me. We'll file the report together."

Spencer still remained silent; the turn in events had shocked him to the core.

Dave turned and eyed the young man's trembling body. He really wished one of his teammates was there to watch over the kid. Unluckily, the only one in the building right now was Hotch and he had been on the phone to Garcia when Rossi had left to use the bathroom.

And thank God that nature had called when it did. He had found it funny that the door had been locked when he had gotten to it a few minutes ago. But luckily, he found an officer nearby that had a spare key to the facilities and borrowed it off of him. When he got back to the restroom he heard a muffled "Fuck you," and knew he needed to get in there right away.

Rossi could remember the way his fingers shook in fright as they stuck the key into the hole and twisted it around. His heart had dropped down to his feet at the sight that greeted him when he opened the door. The poor young man who had already been beaten down so much over the last three days was prone on the floor about to be assaulted. The profiler felt rage explode out of his every pore at the atrocity that was about to be committed to the innocent kid. He didn't even think twice as he pulled out his weapon and aimed it at the crooked cop.

"Spencer," he called softly to the young man.

Hearing the man's gentle tone, the genius slowly brought up his saddened gaze to meet the other man's.

"Spencer, I'm going to take him to one of the holding cells. Why don't you wait for me in the conference room until I get back?" he asked.

Reid's only answer was a small jerk of his head and then he looked back down at the ground.

Rossi sighed, knowing it was the best he was going to get out of the traumatized young man. The profiler turned his attention back to his captive and ordered, "Move it."

Reid watched as the two men exited the bathroom. He sat on the floor for a few minutes after the door had swished shut behind them. Slowly, he extracted himself up off the tile, using the sink as a support. His legs felt weak and wobbly as they tried to sustain his weight.

He needed to get out of here. He had to get away. There was no way that he was going to wait for Agent Rossi to help him because he couldn't. Once Captain Wesley caught wind of what happened he would be twisting and turning the truth to Detective Cox's favor. His assaulter would be free within a few hours and Spencer would have a huge target on his back.

No.

He wasn't going just wait around like a sitting duck for Wesley or Cox to come after him.

He needed to get home.

Once he was there he could make sure none of them could hurt him again.

* * *

**Ahhh...don't kill me and I won't kill Spencer ;)  
**

**Till next time.**


	11. Have Faith in Me

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks for all the awesome reviews, follows and favorites! You guys are wonderful.**

**Please forgive any mistakes...I always seem to miss one or two things...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Rossi ignored Detective Cox's protests as he hauled him through the station and into an empty interrogation room. The grizzled Italian was livid and he had no patience for the struggling man's lies.

Once he got the detective into the private room he forced him down in a chair. He removed the man's cuffs and reattached them in front of his body after he looped them through the bar under the table. "Sit tight," was all he said before he left Cox alone in the room.

Rossi closed the door behind him before Cox's objections to his treatment could permeate throughout the office. He noticed that Hotch must have spotted him while he was moving the detective into the room because his stoic teammate had stepped out of the empty conference room and was giving him a questioning stare.

"I'll explain in a minute," he stated, walking past his friend and back to the restroom. "I've gotta go get the kid. Make sure Cox doesn't get free."

Hotchner trusted Rossi's judgement implicitly and went to stand by the interrogation room door without question, awaiting the older profiler's return.

Rossi's leather shoes glided over the precinct floor as he rushed back to the bathroom, silently praying that Spencer was still in there. He pushed the door open and felt his heart drop; the room was empty. He dashed out of the bathroom and frantically looked around the large office, hoping to spot the lanky young man.

"Damn it," he swore when he didn't see any sign the brilliant kid.

He turned heel and went back to where he left his Unit Chief. Rossi walked right up to the other agent and said, "I've never seen a precinct as fucked up as this place."

Hotchner's face remained as still as stone at Rossi's uncharacteristic words. "What happened?"

Dave looked around and decided that he didn't want to have this discussion out in the open. He walked over to the viewing room and opened the door, waving Aaron in with his hand.

When the two men were securely ensconced in the room the Italian walked over to the two-way mirror and peered at a distressed Detective Cox. A sigh escaped his lips before he launched into his explanation, "Long story short – I went to the bathroom and found that jackass in the middle of sexually assaulting Spencer."

Aaron's face blanched, "You're kidding, right?"

"Would I kid about something that serious?" Rossi growled back even though he knew that Hotch had only asked him that out of disbelief.

"No…I know you wouldn't. So what's your plan?"

"Beyond arresting him and charging him with attempted rape and assault?"

Hotch nodded, "Captain Wesley needs to know. Do you want me to tell him?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why should we tell him?"

"It's his man. He'll want to know."

"Yeah, well we should probably put that off until the last possible moment. Maybe we can wait until after Spencer gives his official statement," Rossi suggested.

"Alright. Where is he?" Hotch asked.

"He ran off," Rossi said with a disgruntled tone.

"What? Wh-"

"Look, I told the kid to clean himself up and meet me in the conference room. What was I supposed to do? I had to make sure Cox didn't get away and run to Wesley. There wasn't anyone else around that I could trust to help the boy because we don't know how deep Wesley's influence runs. So, I just had to hope the kid would listen…but he obviously didn't," Rossi explained gruffly.

Agent Hotchner's face took on a grim appearance, "Okay, we both know that the captain is going to fight this tooth and nail. We have to have Reid's statement to make this stick; otherwise Cox can claim that you misunderstood what was happening."

"Yeah, he's already trying to claim that it was consensual. He was trying to get Spencer to agree to it before I brought him out of the bathroom."

"Then it's absolutely imperative that we get him to tell us on the record his side of the story – without Cox or Wesley present," Aaron asserted.

"My thoughts exactly," Rossi agreed.

Hotch pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons before holding it out in front of him so both of the profilers could hear.

"Hotch, you're calling already. Prentiss and I haven't even made it two blocks yet," Morgan griped, thinking that his boss was checking in on them.

The Unit Chief ignored his subordinates comment. "Morgan, I need you to drive Prentiss to the coroner's office."

"Hotch, man…JJ's already on her way there."

"I know that. Prentiss will meet her there and they'll reexamine the bodies together – "

"So you don't want her interviewing KiKi with me?" Morgan asked, cutting off his boss.

Hotch gritted his teeth. He hated being interrupted, "Morgan, listen. We need you to go to Spencer Reid's apartment and check to see if he is there."

"Why? What happened?" Derek asked, concern coloring his voice.

"Rossi walked in on him being sexually assaulted by Detective Cox."

"Seriously?!" In the background Hotch could hear Prentiss asking Derek what happened.

"We've arrested Cox but Reid left without giving a statement. So we need you to find him and bring him back in to formally lodge a complaint. We're pretty sure without his testimony Captain Wesley will dismiss the charges," Aaron explained. "I'll have Garcia text you his address."

"Alright, no problem. But Hotch…even if I do find him, you know he'll likely refuse to say anything. Those bastards – his father especially - have gotta be holding something over his head. It has to be the reason he thinks we can't help him," Morgan declared, remembering his prior conversations with the young man.

"Well than it's up to you to make him believe we can," Hotch stated before hanging up the phone.

Morgan pulled the devise away from his ear and shoved it back in his pocket.

"Mind telling me what that was all about?" Prentiss asked curiously from the passenger seat.

The profiler shook his head in dismay, "Trust me. You don't want to know."

* * *

Reid galloped up the stairs leading to his apartment. His keys were already in his hands and ready to go when he got to his door. Mindlessly, he kicked his shoes off of his feet and onto the rubber mat while he unlocked the deadbolt on his door. When he heard the click of the lock pulling back into its home, he pushed his shoulder against the door and rushed into the dark studio.

Once he got inside he closed the door and reset the locks out of habit. His messenger bag was quickly unslung from his shoulder and dropped down to the ground. Without stopping to allow his eyes adjust to the dim lighting he rushed into his bathroom and flicked on the light.

He hissed at the sudden brightness and had to wait for his pupils to contract before reaching for his toothbrush. Spencer clutched the brush in one hand while he squeezed a huge amount of paste onto the bristles. The faucet was pouring out cold water seconds later as he furiously brushed his teeth. Back and forth. Up and down. He put so much pressure on the brush that he was sure it was going to break into two pieces. It wouldn't matter if it did, though. For, the only thing he could think about at the moment was the intense need to disinfect his mouth and banish the musky taste of Cox's anatomy that still lingered on his tongue. If it took wearing the bristles down to their nubs in order to achieve that sense of cleanliness then so be it. He was not going to die tonight with that man's seed tainting his mouth.

When he felt that his teeth were sufficiently clean he dropped the toothbrush down into the sink and finally looked at himself in the mirror.

Shock overtook him as he stared at the unfamiliar face that was reflected in the glass.

Haunted.

That was the first word that popped into his brain as he studied the despondent figure.

Disgusting.

The man looking back at him was beyond revolting – dirty and foul down to the core.

Hollow.

His image was lifeless; his body a shell that no longer contained a soul.

Hopeless.

There was no prospect for change in that man's life – nothing to look forward too and no reason to live.

Was that him?

He reached his hand up to his face and tenderly touched the visage staring back at him, wincing whenever he grazed a particularly sore spot.

Soon his fingers stopped their travels, but Spencer's eyes continued the journey. He found that he couldn't stop his big brown orbs from picking out every flaw that peppered his face. Scars, cuts, scrapes and bruises couldn't hide from them. He saw each one and relived the story behind its making. Memories he didn't want to experience again started flashing through his mind. Each one was like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and in agony.

He could feel his mental reserves breaking as the assault became too much for him to handle. Knowing no other way to get his mind to stop, he clenched his right hand into a fist and smashed it into the mirror.

It cracked instantly as it absorbed the force of his blow. He watched the glittering shards tinkle down into the sink. His solution to destroy the face in the mirror had been thwarted. Because now, sitting in the white porcelain below him, were hundreds of pieces of glass and each one was reflecting the image he had tried to obliterate.

The genius put both his hands down onto the counter and dropped his head in defeat. The pain of the strike had cleared his mind and injured his hand. Rivulets of blood were spreading across his right hand's papery-thin skin. Each stream was taking its own path as they wound their way from his scratched knuckles through the creases in his skin. Reid found that he didn't care when he heard the pitter-patter of his blood dropping off the back of his hand and down onto the tiled floor beneath him. Soon there would be more to follow anyways.

Deciding then and there that he would utilize the reflection of that unfamiliar face to help him complete his mission, he picked up the largest shard he could find and clasped it in his wounded hand.

He carried his only means of salvation with him over to his bed and set it on the nightstand. He had one more task to complete before he could drift off into a sweet oblivion; he had to write to his mother.

Reid's hands moved automatically to the drawer embedded in the stand. He used his uninjured appendage to pull it open and inside he found the stationary pad and pen that he always used when writing his mother.

Realizing that he was going to have to staunch the blood-flow coming from his knuckles to prevent staining the paper, he took his pillow out of its case and used it to sop up the fluid.

When he was satisfied that his mother would not see a hint of red on her letter he pulled the writing supplies out of their home and sat down on his bed, crisscrossing his gangly legs beneath him. After he was situated on the mattress he reached over and tugged the chain hanging down from the antique lamp on the nightstand next to him. The 40 watt bulb generated a soft glow that permeated the room around him while casting a few shadows at the same time.

Reid immediately put pen to paper.

_Mom,_

_I'm not going to bother you with the usual platitudes that come along with this type of letter._

_You knew this was coming. I could tell._

_Let me first say though, that this wasn't something that you could have prevented. I've been thinking about it for quite some time now._

_Sure, at one point I used to have hopes and dreams for a better future. One in which you and I could be happy. You'd be at a better facility - one that actually cared about you and your needs. And I would have pursued a higher education; maybe I would have even gotten a doctorate or two._

_But now I realize, thanks to Wesley and his cronies, that a future that bright just isn't in the cards for me._

_I am what I am - Wesley's puppet._

_And there is no escaping that, mom._

_Trust me. I've looked for a way out. I've plotted and planned. I've saved up money and researched hospitals for you in other cities. But every time I even come close to executing my ideas they are always stymied by Wesley. His reach stretches too far and I can't escape it._

_There is only one way for me to be free and this is it._

_I'm hoping that once I'm gone Wesley will release you from his clutches. And if he does, don't worry. I've already set it up in my will for you to receive all the money I have in my bank account. It's not much, and it won't last you that long but it will get your foot in the door at a lovely facility on the west side of Vegas. I've already filled out and submitted your application and applied to the government to get you some aid. My lawyer is going to follow up with Wesley and get you moved…hopefully._

_I know it's not much of a parting gift but I'll feel better knowing your being taken care of by a staff that is really invested in your health and well-being._

_So mom, please promise me you won't morn for long. Know that wherever I end up in the universe it will be better than here._

_But before I go I just really want you to know how much I love you._

_And I need you to know that I spent every day of my life proud to be your son._

_-Spencer_

He sat the pen down on the bed next to him when he finished his letter. On the paper there were spots of moisture due to the drops that had fallen from his eyes as he had written his farewell. One particular bead of salt water had landed on top of his signature causing the ink to bleed out, blurring the written words. For some reason he felt compelled to poked his finger into the tiny puddle and smudge the ink, making his name as obscure as he felt.

The miserable genius took his time to fold the letter perfectly and insert it into an envelope. He wrote his mother's name on the front of it. He placed it upright against the lamp on the nightstand, hoping that whoever found it would see it to its rightful owner.

With a sigh he picked up the mirror shard from earlier. It was shaped like a jagged isosceles triangle and had a particularly sharp point at one end. He glanced at himself one more time in mirrored glass and grimaced at the reflection.

He tightened his grip around the weapon and laid his left hand out, palm up. He undid the button at his wrist and hooked one finger into the sleeve of his shirt. He slowly drew the fabric up above his elbow and looked down at his arm. The pasty white skin that covered him was so thin that he could clearly see the route of the blue veins beneath it. It was like his body was showing him the map he needed to follow to end his life.

He brought the pointed tip of the glass to the crook of his elbow and jabbed it into his skin.

Mesmerized, he watched as a globule of bright red blood rose up out of the wound. The liquid welled up into a large bubble, until it got so big that the surface tension holding it together couldn't do its job any more. The bead of blood broke on the side and trickled down around his elbow.

The movement of the red liquid broke him from his trance. Reid shook his head and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

He placed the shard on top of the puncture and inhaled.

His long lanky fingers pushed down with the intent to draw the glass across his skin but a loud bang boomed throughout the room.

With a gasp he dropped the mirror, his expressive eyes going wide at the interruption. He snapped his gaze toward the door and watched as it vibrated along with another thunderous knock.

"Spencer! Spencer! It's me, Morgan. Open the door, kid."

The boy on the bed held his breath, hoping that if he remained quiet and didn't respond that the man would go away.

"Spencer! I know you're home, kid. The shoes you wore today are sitting out here on the mat," the agent called through the wood.

"Shit," he hissed into the air as the profiler on the other side of the door jiggled the knob.

"Look kid, you've got till the count of five to open this thing up or I'm going to do it for you," Morgan threatened.

"One."

Reid tossed the crystalline shard down and yanked down his shirt sleeve.

"Two."

He pushed himself up off the bed and started trudging to the door. All the while he was mentally preparing multiple excuses he could use to send the profiler on his way.

Nothing was going to stop him from seeing his plan through tonight.

"Three."

Spencer reached his hand out and turned the locks. He cracked the door open and peered out at the muscular man. "Agent Morgan?"

Derek's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn't expected the boy to answer the door so easily. "Yeah, kid."

"What are you doing here?"

The agent licked his lips and brought his hand up to rest on the jamb. "Why don't you let me in and we can talk about it?"

Spencer hesitated slightly before answering, "Uh-I'd rather not. I'm kinda busy right now."

Not up for arguing with the stubborn kid, Morgan pulled out his trump card, "Well I'm not leaving until you talk to me. So unless you want me shouting at you through the door about your assault - out here where all your neighbors can hear no less - than I suggest you let me in."

Reid's face slackened in defeat. He stepped back from the door and allowed the profiler to enter.

Morgan squeezed by the genius and found himself standing in what seemed to be the living room portion of the apartment. He turned at looked the boy up and down, disturbed to see a trail of blood painting the kid's left hand. "Shit, kid. Did Cox do that to you?"

The assistant's big brown eyes widened in panic when he realized what had caught the profiler's attention. He raised his left hand and looked at it as if he was seeing it for the first time. "Uh-I-I-uh…I'll be right back." He knew his words weren't the most eloquent but his brain couldn't come up with an excuse for the blood fast enough. So instead of telling the truth, Reid took off to his bathroom and shut himself inside, where he proceeded to clean and bandage the lesion with the materials from a kit that he kept under the counter.

When he was finished he dropped the bloody scraps of linen into the garbage, followed by the pieces of mirror that were in the sink. Once he had the bathroom looking spic and span he approached the door and rested his hand on the knob. Spencer was dreading the confrontation that would occur once he stepped out of his safe-haven.

"Just get it over with. The sooner you get rid of him the sooner you can finish what you started," he whispered to himself, trying to bolster his courage.

He took in a deep breath of air, turning the handle at the same time.

The sight that met him as he stepped back out into his apartment made his blood run cold.

There, next to his bed stood Agent Derek Morgan holding the bloody shard in one hand and the unfolded letter to his mother in the other.

"What are you doing?" he squawked at the man.

Derek's eyes flew up to meet Reid's distraught face. For a second Spencer found himself taken aback by the pained expression in the profiler's chocolatey orbs. It was an emotion he hadn't expected to see on the other man's face.

Morgan shook the letter in his hand at the kid's arm, "Were you – did I – did I just stop you from killing yourself? That's why you're bleeding, right? Fuck kid, how bad did you cut yourself? Do I need to get you to a hospital?"

As Derek spouted out his questions, his voice becoming more frantic with each one, Spencer started to shrink in on himself. He curled his long arms around his body, hunched his shoulders and dropped his chin. The profiler's genuine worry for him hit him harder than he would have expected. No one except for his mother had ever shown so much concern for him. He could feel his cheeks heat up as a heavy dose of shame spiraled through his body.

"Kid? Kid? Spencer?"

The agent's uneasy voice interrupted the boy's self-loathing, snapping him back to the reality at hand. "Uh-"

"Do I need to call an ambulance?" Morgan asked again, slower this time as if he was talking to someone of low intelligence.

"Um…no. I-uh-it-the cut-it wasn't that bad," he stammered.

Though Spencer couldn't see it as skeptical look overtook the profiler's face. "Come on, let's sit down. You shouldn't be on your feet right now," Morgan directed, ushering the young man to his worn down couch.

Reid followed the suggestion robotically. He had no idea what was going to happen to him now.

The couch creaked under their combined body weight; the old piece of furniture hadn't had to endure such a burden in a long time. Spencer sat close to the arm, his body bundled into a tight ball with his knees up to his chest and his arms still wrapped around his waist. Derek, on the other hand, chose to sit right next to the genius in the hopes that his presence might encourage the boy to open up to him.

So they sat there for a few minutes in an uncomfortable silence while they each contemplated the turn of events that led them here.

It was Morgan who finally decided to speak first, "Do you wanna tell me why you – why you felt that this was the best solution to your problems?" Internally the muscular man cringed at how blunt his question was but he needed to know the answer and didn't feel like beating around the bush.

For a moment Spencer considered not answering the other man but then he whispered out, "You know why; you read the letter."

Morgan looked down at the said piece of paper that was still in his hand. "Yeah, I read it. But that doesn't answer my question."

Reid scoffed at the man's response, "Doesn't it?"

"No," Morgan said simply. "It doesn't."

"Then I'm not sure what you want to hear, Agent Morgan," Reid spat out venomously. The mental rope he had tying his emotion together was fraying fast.

"I want to hear what Wesley has done to back you into such a tight corner. What's his hold on you, kid?"

Morgan observed how his questions seemed to cause the assistant pain. The boy's eyes squeezed shut and he dropped his head down onto his knees.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing if you're calling yourself his puppet. Your father is –"

Spencer's head shot up and he growled through gritted teeth, "He. Is. Not. My. Father."

Morgan held up his hands, "Whoa…I didn't mean to –"

"Let me make one thing clear, Agent Morgan. Bernie Wesley may have signed a piece of paper that named him as my legal guardian but he has never been a father to me. I have no father," he swore with conviction.

"Okay…no problem. He's not your father," Morgan said, trying to placate the kid.

The man's efforts to pacify him seemed to have worked for Reid allowed his body to return to its prior state.

"So…going back to my earlier question…what's Bernie got on you? Is it your mother? You said she was in his clutches. What does that mean?"

"…"

"Spencer…please. I want to help you – we want to help you. My team and I – we-we know that something fishy is going on with you and Captain Wesley. We even know that somehow you two are connected to these recent murders." Morgan saw the kid stiffen at that statement and quickly went on to assuage his worries. "Look, connected doesn't mean we think you did it. But you know something about them that you're hiding from us. Hell, we wouldn't be good at our job if we didn't see it. And I promise you that we can help…you just have to give us-give me-that chance," he said gently, reaching his hand out and putting his hand on the boy's leg.

The young man flinched at the touch but didn't pull away. It seemed like each word the profiler uttered cut at those emotional ropes, whittling them down to mere pieces of twine.

"Please."

He was so close to cracking but the fear of what could happen to his mother kept holding him back. "I can't."

"Why?"

"Be-because I just can't."

Morgan heaved a gigantic sigh, "I'm not going to let you die, Pretty Boy. And you can't let Wesley win like this. You told your mother in your letter that you wanted her to have a brighter future. Well, I'm telling you right now that if you do this…if you end it like this…you've ruined any chance of that happening. There is no mother on Earth that could live a happy life after that. And she will _always_ blame herself."

Spencer's breath hitched, "But if I tell you he'll take her away from me. He-he'll make it so that I can never see her again. Tell me Agent Morgan, is that any better than me being dead?"

Realizing that the boy's defenses were starting to break, Morgan continued his probe. "How? How could he keep her away from you?"

"Wesley has power of attorney over her. He makes all of her medical decisions. He can ban me from seeing her or he relocate her to another facility and never tell me which one. He has all the power…he always has…ever since he tricked her into signing the papers back was I was younger."

"Tricked her?"

"Yeah…my…my mom has schizophrenia. She started developing it when I was little and it grew worse and worse as I got older. Wesley was our neighbor and he knew about her condition. He also knew how smart I was and how to use my talents to further his career. So he preyed on us by convincing me that he was going to help us financially in return for my help. About a year later he decided that he didn't want to lose me when I went away to college. So when mom was having one of her episodes he talked her into signing papers that would give him power of attorney over her and another set that turned him into my legal guardian. He then used his new authority to prevent me from leaving and he's kept me and my mother under his thumb ever since," Reid explained in a tiny defeated voice.

"So you're adoption was just his way of making sure he had absolute control of you and he got your mom to sign over her parental rights without even knowing it," Morgan stated, shaking his head in disgust.

Spencer finally tilted his chin up and turned it to look at Morgan. His cheeks had tear tracks running down them and his eyes were bloodshot.

The agent squeezed the boy's leg that he had been gripping with his hand, "God kid, I'm so sorry."

"So you see? You see why I can't talk…because if I do –"

"If you do he'll take her away from you permanently."

"Or worse," Spencer murmured.

"What could be worse?"

"He's threatened to have me committed too."

"What? How?"

"When I turned eighteen he forced me to make him my power of attorney. If he wanted he could call up the hospital and claim that I was ill. He'd be in his rights too…he's allowed to act in my interest if I ever become incapacitated. And the kicker is that no one would question him at all because he's _Captain Wesley,_ one of Las Vegas's finest," the boy said bitterly.

Morgan let go of Reid's leg and sat back on the couch. "Ah, kid…I can definitely understand where you're coming from now…and I can tell you for a fact that we can help you. It won't be easy but with your help we can take him down and free you from his hold."

A tiny tendril of hope started blossoming in Spencer's mind at the agent's words. "How?"

"Well for starters, Hotch is a lawyer. And from what you've just told me I bet you any money he could get those power of attorney papers thrown out in any court. He could probably even get you named as your mother's power of attorney instead."

"Do you think he would do it? He doesn't even know me…"

"I can almost guarantee that he will," Morgan vowed, knowing that his unit chief would never stand for the injustice that had been done to this kid.

"But what about Wesley…he'll try to retaliate against me."

"That's where you come in."

"What do you mean?"

"Like I said earlier we know that something rotten is going on beneath the surface of that precinct and you can't tell me that the source of that stench isn't Captain Wesley, himself. Now that I think about it, you running away from the station after what happened with Cox makes more sense. You knew that Wesley wasn't going to take your assault charges seriously even though Rossi witnessed it happening. Am I right?"

Spencer shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of what had happened to him earlier. "It's not the first time Cox has done that to me," he admitted to Morgan. "Uh-Wesley…he…uh…uses me as a reward…a prize for his men when they do a good job. So I-I knew that even with Agent Rossi's help my claims would be thrown out – disregarded. Wesley would have just forced me into saying it was consensual."

"Not the first time? Fuck kid, how many times – no…we'll save that till later." Derek cut himself off, knowing the kid wasn't up for that discussion right now. Instead he decided to continue to gather information pertaining to Wesley's influence, "Uh-How many people on the force are under his control?"

"Not as many as you'd think. It's really just the detectives that work directly under him. He's smart, Agent Morgan. He knows that he only needs a few men to get the job done. If he has too many there's a big chance someone might get fed up with him and turn him into the higher authorities."

"You know what I don't understand?"

"What?"

"I don't understand how his bosses can't see what's happening. It's as plain as day that he's a crooked cop."

Reid smirked before saying cynically, "Like I said, he knows what he's doing. He knows how to hide his tracks and throw people off his scent."

"So putting him away comes down to gathering proof and right now we don't have any…but you do. Spencer, with your help I'm betting we can put him away for a long time and maybe even solve these murders – your friend's murders."

Spencer took a few minutes to consider the consequences of snitching on Wesley, "I-I don't know. Bernie has a ton of influence in this town…even if you do end up arresting him I'm sure one of his…uh…associates would come after me."

"I doubt it. When you take out the head of an operation the followers usually disband in order to save their own necks."

Spencer remained silent but Morgan could tell his wheels were turning. He knew that the boy just needed a little more nudging to come over to their side. "Hey, kid. Trust me, this is a better option than trying to kill yourself. We'll get you through this and in the end you and your mom will finally have a chance to lead the lives you've been dreaming of. I'm not going to let you down and I'm not going to walk away. I'm going to be here through the bitter end and I'll make sure that bastard can't ever touch you again. But you've gotta have faith in me."

Reid let Derek's words sink in slowly. He believed the agent when he said he wasn't going to abandon him. He really did. He stretched out his left arm and looked down at the few speckles of blood that had seeped through the bandage and stained the sleeve. What did he have to lose? If this all went wrong – if it was all for naught, he could come back here and finish the job.

He turned his honey-brown eyes towards the agent and scanned his face. Upon seeing the man's sincerity written all over it he knew what he was going to do. "A-alright Agent Morgan. I-I'll help you guys."

Derek's lips cracked open revealing his white teeth as they stretched into a big smile, "You're doing the right thing, kid."

"I know," Spencer confessed. "So what do we do now?"

"We need you to give a formal statement pertaining to Wesley and all of his misdeeds. We can do it here or down at the station."

"Here." he said fervently. There was no way he was going back to the precinct to squeal on Wesley.

"No worries, kid. Let me call in one of my teammates so they can be here to witness it. We'll record what you have to say and then we'll get the ball rolling," Derek explained.

"O-okay…"

The profiler reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He stood up and hit Hotch's number on speed dial before holding the phone up to his ear. The first ring was jingling in his ear when three sharp knocks sounded throughout the room. Derek glanced down at the kid and saw a look of panic on his sharp features.

"Spencer! Spencer, open this door right now!"

The boy's body started shaking uncontrollably. He turned his wide eyes up to Morgan and said, "It's Wesley."


	12. Gullible

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks for all the reviews, follows, and favorites!**

**This chapter isn't as long as the last one and it's mainly told from Wesley's POV.**

**I'm thinking only about 5 or so more chapters left. Everything is coming to a head now.**

**Please forgive any mistakes!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Wesley had just gotten back from a meeting he had with the local mayor. He'd been updating the man on the progress of the investigation into the recent prostitute murders, making sure to highlight his own contributions while downplaying the F.B.I.'s. The mayor seemed pleased with what he had heard but he said in no uncertain terms that he wanted this whole thing wrapped up soon.

The time limit was a bit of a stressor for Bernie. He was still struggling with trying to frame Luthor and his boy for all the murders but the agents were progressing faster than he could plot. He needed to figure out something to divert their attention in the right direction, and quick.

His feet had barely touched the tile floor when Detective Ureke ran up to him. "Captain, you need to get back there quick," he said gesturing toward the rear of the precinct. "Those F.B.I. guys took Cox into custody and have him holed up in one of the interrogation rooms."

"What!? Why?" Wesley bellowed as he stomped toward the back of the building.

Ureke matched the man's steps, "I'm not sure. The old guy – Agent Rossi – won't tell anyone why he arrested him and the other one is helping him keep people away."

"Well those fuckers are not going to keep me away from my own man. This is my fucking station and I'll be damned if they tell me what to do," Wesley rumbled.

As the officer stormed back to the interrogation rooms the two profilers came into sight. The senior agents were standing outside of their conference room, gesturing toward where Cox was presumably held. Wesley felt anger flare in his gut at the prospect of one of his own men being arrested by those damn profilers.

"What the hell is going on here?" he spat out as he came to a halt inches from the sanctimonious agents.

Neither man let the Captain's abrupt entrance disturb their stoic faces – both were masters of their emotions.

"Good evening, Captain," Rossi said coolly, ignoring the man's question.

Disregarding the old man's greeting, Wesley plowed on, "Why the hell have you arrested one of my best detectives? Don't tell me that your asinine profile identified him as our murder!"

Agent Rossi's eyes narrowed as he absorbed the man's rage filled words, "On the contrary, he has been arrested on completely unrelated charges."

"Unrelated – what the hell are you talking about?"

"Detective Cox has been arrested for attempted rape and assault," Agent Hotchner explained indifferently.

"Attempted rape? Seriously? There is no way he would have done such a thing," Wesley argued, furiously defending his friend and coworker.

"Really now?" Rossi asked arrogantly, purposefully pressing Wesley's buttons. "Well, I would beg to differ. Especially since I was the one who walked in on him moments before he penetrated his victim."

Wesley's faced paled. He knew that Cox was fucked if the agent really did walk in on him. "Where did this happen? Who was he – who was he…uh…"

"About to rape?" Rossi asked, finishing the man's question.

Bernie just nodded.

The grizzled Italian looked over at the unit chief. The two exchanged a brief look before Hotchner nodded his consent. Rossi turned back to the captain and answered, "Detective Cox was kind enough to break the law in his own precinct – the men's room to be exact. And as for who he was victimizing…well it was none other than your own son, Spencer."

As soon as his adopted son's name was uttered Wesley broke out into a loud guffaw. "You've gotta be kidding me. You're telling me that you arrested Detective Cox because you thought he was about to rape Spencer? Man…I thought you guys were supposed to be the best the F.B.I. had to offer."

Agent Hotchner squared his shoulders, bristling at the captain's response. "I fail to see how this is funny, Captain Wesley."

Bernie continued to chuckle as he tried stepping around the two agents in order to reach the interrogation room. "It's funny, _agent_, because while the act should not have been taking place in police headquarters it was completely consensual. Those two have been going at it for years."

Feeling that his explanation should have been sufficient enough to get his man released, he reached his hand out to the door knob but was stopped by Rossi's strong grip.

"Well, I happen to disagree with your interpretation of the events. Especially because you were not a witness to them and I was," Rossi stated. "So unless you are going to provide counsel to Detective Cox I'm going to have to ask you to not go in there."

Wesley shook the man's hand off of his own and turned back to look at the two agents. "And I'm going to have to ask you to back off, _agent. _Because it sounds like the only evidence you have is circumstantial and not concrete. _So_, unless you have some proof to back up your claim I'm releasing my man."

"With all due respect, Captain Wesley, you will not. You know as well as we do that we have 48 hours to procure the evidence we need and I assure you that we will," Hotch said crisply.

Wesley snorted, "I highly doubt that…but fine. Waste 48 hours of the tax-payers' money on something that you're not even here to investigate. What should I tell the mayor when he asks me why you're more focused on these false charges than the homicide investigation?"

"You can tell the mayor to contact me anytime he needs to," Hotch said, unphased by the man's question.

"Right…," Bernie said skeptically. "Whatever. In the meantime, I'm going in to speak with Detective Cox. Just consider me his counsel," he snarled at the profilers before he shoved his way into the room.

Wesley watched as Detective Cox almost jumped out of his seat at the abrupt opening of the door. His eyes narrowed at the sight of relief flowing over his subordinate's face. "Don't be so thankful to see me. Right now I'm here as your legal counsel because those clowns are keeping you here for the full 48 hours. They're pretty confident that they'll have grounds to legally arrest you before then."

Cox sat back in his chair and watched as his boss stalked to the other side of the table and sat down. Wesley looked behind him at the two-way mirror and then back at his friend. Since he declared himself Cox's legal counsel they couldn't listen in on their conversation.

"Shit," Cox swore.

Instead of commiserating with his friend, Wesley unleashed his anger, "You fucking dumbass. Why the hell did you decided to do it here? Why couldn't you just go to his fucking apartment and do it? I mean, what kind of retard decides that the best place to rape someone is in the goddamn police station? Do you even possess an ounce of intelligence?"

"I-I wasn't th-thinking," Cox stuttered.

"You sure as hell weren't! Now I've gotta get you're ass out of this mess and go make sure the kid keeps his mouth shut," Wesley roared, slamming one of his fists down onto the table.

The blood drained from Cox's face at the mention of Spencer, "Y-you think he'd talk?"

"Shit, I don't know anymore. It seems like these profilers are trying to get in good with him…so yeah, I think my fuckhead of an adopted son might just turn you in," Bernie surmised heatedly. "Fuck…you fucking dumbass...of all the things I needed to deal with right now!" The police captain abruptly stood up and flung his chair into the table, causing it to topple over and clatter to the ground.

"Boss?" Cox inquired uneasily.

"I gotta go. Do me a favor and don't say anything else to those fucking agents. If you're lucky you just might get out of this with a slap on the wrist," Wesley spat, heading toward the door. He didn't even bother to wait for an answer from the detective before he stormed out of the room. After that he just brushed past the agents who were still standing on the other side of the door and made his way out of the station, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he went.

Wesley barely glanced at the screen in order to connect with his intended contact. The call was answered after two short rings. "Yeah…it's me. Look I don't care how you do it but I need you to get me Luthor's number…now!"

* * *

"We'll discuss it in more detail when I arrive…just give me an hour and I'll be there," Wesley said into the phone before hanging up brusquely.

"Fuck," he cursed as he pulled into a parking spot in front of Spencer's apartment complex. Next to him was one of the standard issue black SUVs that had been assigned to the profilers while they were here investigating the murders; meaning he was going to have to go through another damn profiler to get to his adopted son.

Grumbling at his misfortune, he made his way up the sidewalk to the doorway. The building that his adopted son had chosen had no lock or buzzer system in place so anyone could just walk right on in without permission. Thankfully, there was no one in sight when Wesley stepped into what was supposed to be a foyer, so it was easy for him to make his way up the stairs uncontested to his dipshit son's apartment.

Before he knocked on the door he stood in the hallway and strained his ears, hoping to hear something through the wooden barrier. Unfortunately, the only sounds coming through the closed door were the murmurings of a deep voice. Though he couldn't make out what was being said, he knew it wasn't Reid's voice that was doing the talking. For the kid's voice was much too soft and meek to match what he was hearing.

Deducing that Agent Morgan must be in there with his son, Wesley quickly tried to rack his brain for a way to get Spencer out of the apartment without the profiler in tow.

Wesley started pacing back and forth in the hallway. "Think!" he ordered himself, shoving his hands into his pockets. His right hand grasped his phone and absentmindedly he pulled it out. The screensaver of his mother lit up brightly, reacting to the touch of his fingers. He stared down at the picture as a plan started to formulate in his mind.

"Mom…," he muttered, looking back at the door and smiling.

* * *

"It's Wesley," Spencer uttered, the fear in his voice evident to the profiler.

Derek's face hardened at the kid's scared countenance. He turned toward the door, intent upon answering it.

"No!" Spencer called out as he stood up from the couch and made his way over to the profiler. He grabbed Morgan's forearm and pulled him back. "Let me answer it."

Morgan looked down at the kid's hand on his arm and then up to the boy's alarmed face. "Are you sure? I'll be happy to take care of him for you. It'd be my pleasure," the muscular man said with a smiled while punching his right fist into the palm of his other hand.

Reid shook his head frantically. "N-no, it's alright. It would only be worse if you opened it."

The agent gave the assistant a skeptical look, "Nothing is going to be worse…not with me here. He's not going to start shit."

Spencer went to reply when another three knocks emanated through the apartment. "Spencer! Spencer, you need to open this door right now! I know you're home! We need to talk."

Morgan started on his way to the door again but the frightened genius skirted around him and made it there first. He grabbed the handle and looked back at the agent, giving him a wan smile.

Derek stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He really didn't want the boy answering the door but the kid's obstinate side was showing itself. So he planted his feet to the ground, "Fine, but I'm staying right here."

Spencer nodded and turned the handle. He cautiously opened the door and said, "Sir?"

"What the hell took you so long boy? We've got no time to waste," Wesley stated gruffly. "Grab you're things. We need to get going."

"Uh-wh-why?" Spencer stammered as he stepped back.

"Yeah – where do you think you two are going?" Morgan asked from his position behind the youth.

Wesley's eyes snapped away from Spencer and narrowed at the sight of Morgan. "Agent Morgan, what are you doing here?"

"That's none of your business," Morgan answered icily. "And you're not taking Spencer anywhere."

Spencer saw his adopted father's eyes flash at the profiler's statement which caused him to instinctively position himself in between the two men.

The captain, paying his son no heed, took an aggressive step forward toward the agent. "Really? And who are you to stop me?"

"I'm someone that actually cares about him," Morgan snarled, his own hostility shining through in his words.

The younger man stretched his hands out in order to keep the two men as far apart as possible. "Stop!" he shouted, trying to deter the impending fight.

Both men halted at his words. Spencer kept his arms out and turned toward Wesley, "With all due respect sir, I'm not going anywhere with you."

Wesley's mouth dropped a little at the fact that his ward was actually sticking up for himself. He was momentarily speechless but quickly snapped out of his stupor. "Spencer," he said, softening his voice. "You don't understand."

A puzzle look covered the boy's face at the change in his adopted father's tone and the fact that he addressed him by his first name, "What do you mean?"

"It's your mom. The sanitarium called…Spencer…she-she had an episode and they don't know if she's going to make it."

Shocked, Reid's hands dropped limply down to his sides. "She-she's going to –"

"Die? I-I don't know. But we need to get to get over there now," Wesley said, putting his hand on Reid's back in order to usher him through the door. "Come on. I'll drive."

Dumbstruck, Spencer could only nod his head. He was allowing himself to be guided toward the door when the forgotten agent in the room called out, "I'll take you, kid. Go on, Captain. We'll meet you there."

Bernie internally cursed at the profiler before turning around and facing him. "Don't trouble yourself, Agent Morgan. I've got him."

Derek, suspicious of whether Wesley was telling the truth or not, said, "It'd be no trouble at all. Besides, I think the kid would rather ride with me anyways. Wouldn't ya, Spencer?"

Reid, momentarily shaken out of his stupor, was about to agree with his new friend when the captain interrupted him.

"That may be, agent. But the facility won't let Spencer in to see his mother without me. In fact, as of yesterday they won't even let him through the front gates if I'm not there with him. So you see, your services just aren't needed."

Morgan went to argue with the police officer again when Spencer spoke up in a quiet voice, "He's right, Agent Morgan. I have to ride in with him."

At Reid's response the captain started pushing his son toward the door again.

"But kid…"

"No, it's alright. I-I'll catch up with you after I find out what's going on with my mom…," he said listlessly, the worry about his mother was obviously starting to consume him. He seemed so out of it that it was a wonder that he even stopped to put his shoes on his feet.

Morgan followed them out of the apartment and shut the door behind him. He continued to try to appeal to the boy's senses but couldn't seem to get his point through to the genius. Helplessly, he watched as Spencer ducked down into the silver Charger and robotically fastened his seatbelt. Moments later the crooked cop put the car into gear and backed out, his headlights blinding the agent standing on the curb. Derek brought his hand up to block the light from his eyes until the car turned away from him. As he lowered his hand he saw the smug smile illuminating Wesley's visage, causing a feeling of dread to begin to coil in his stomach.

* * *

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the car glided down the streets of Vegas. The silence surround the two men was heavy as each one was lost in their own thoughts. They had gotten about three miles from his apartment when the youth finally broke the peace.

"Did they say what happened to her?" he asked timidly, clearly worried about the answer.

Wesley remained silent, staring at the road as he flawlessly maneuvered through the traffic.

Thinking that the other man hadn't heard him, Reid started to repeat himself, "I said, did they –"

"I heard what you said. I'm not deaf," Wesley growled.

"Oh," Spencer said quietly. "So…"

"Just shut the fuck up and stop worrying about it."

Reid furrowed his brow, "But it's my mother…of course I'm worrying about her." He thrust his left elbow into the back and the seat and turned to face the captain. Was that glee he saw on the man's face?

Wesley chuckled at the boy's response but didn't say anything else. He just continued the drive the car, ignoring the young man beside him.

Spencer realizing that he wasn't going to get an answer out of the man let out a huff of air and flung his body back against the seat. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the window.

As they approached the street that would lead them to the sanitarium Spencer started to get antsy.

Was his mom going to be okay?

What had happened?

Did she get her hands on a weapon of some sort?

Who was in charge of watching her?

He was about to ask Wesley for more information again when he watched the road they needed to turn on fly by. "Uh…Sir, you just missed the turn," he informed Bernie urgently.

The older man looked over at him and rolled his eyes. "God, you can be so stupid sometimes."

"Wh-"

"Were not going to see your mother, you dumbfuck. We've got business elsewhere."

"What? No! My mom –"

"Your mother is fine. I made it up to get you away from that fucking agent," Wesley confessed.

Reid's eyes went wide at the revelation. "Why?"

"I need you with me on this deal and after all that trouble you caused this evening with Cox I knew I wasn't going to get you outta there without a good reason."

"What type of deal? You've never needed me for a business meeting before," Spencer asked, discreetly reaching his hand into his pocket for his phone. Regrettably, he discovered he had left it behind in his apartment due to his stunned departure.

"You'll find out when we get there," Bernie said cryptically. "Now shut up and let me think."

"But –"

An unexpected backhand to his face shut the young man up before he could say anything else. The youth let out a little whimper of pain and started to massage his tender skin.

"Not another word," Wesley ordered.

Spencer turned his back on his supposed father and closed his eyes, cursing his gullibility.

* * *

The Charger pulled up to a large wrought iron gate with a keypad and speaker perched outside of it. Spencer watched silently as Bernie rolled down his window and pushed a button.

Seconds later a fuzzy voice said, "State your name and business."

The captain hit the speaker button and said, "This is Bernie Wesley and I have an appointment with Luthor."

Reid sat up straighter at the mention of Wesley's rival pimp.

Nothing more was communicated over the speaker but whomever was manning the gates must have been satisfied with Wesley's explanation because the gates pulled open moments later.

The captain drove his vehicle slowly up the drive and pulled to a stop in front of the large manor. Reid had never seen anything quite like it and found himself in awe of the extravagant home.

His admiration for the building was quickly cut short by Bernie. The man reached over and grabbed Reid's pointy chin, forcefully turning the boy's face to meet his own. "Now listen to me. I'm going to do all the talking when we get in there. You're just along for the ride. I don't want to hear a peep out of you unless Luthor addresses you directly. And if he does you keep your answers short and vague. I've got a plan all worked out and I don't need you fucking it up."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Good. Now get the fuck out of the car."

* * *

**Grrr...Morgan, why'd you just let him leave?**

**I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens next.**

**Till next time!**


	13. Collateral

**Hi Friends!**

**Thanks to everyone for your reviews, favorites and follows! I'm find myself amazed at how well received this story has been. Everyday I seem to get a new follower or favorite message. It just makes me happy that ya'll are enjoying yourself.**

**Please forgive any mistakes.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The bright glare of halogen headlights assaulted Morgan's eyes as another resident pulled their Honda Civic into the now vacant parking spot. The shining light broke the agent's stupor and sent him running for his SUV. He pulled out his phone along the way and hit Hotch's number on the speed dial.

"Morgan?" the man's stern voice asked.

"Yeah, Hotch. You're not going to believe this," Morgan began as he hauled himself into the leather driver's seat and pushed the button to start the vehicle. "Wesley showed up and apparently Spencer's mother had a severe episode and she might not make it. The two just took off for the hospital. And the man's timing couldn't have been any better. The kid had just agreed to give a formal statement implicating that bastard in some illegal activities."

"So you just let him leave with Wesley?" Hotch asked incredulously.

Morgan knew that question was coming and was ready with his answer, "Look man, I tried to get the kid to let me drive him but he said the sanitarium wouldn't let him in without Wesley. The good captain backed that statement up and practically dragged the kid out to his car. I kept trying to convince Spencer to let me come but he refused. He said he'd catch up with me after he found out what was going on with his mom. But Hotch, man, I just don't buy any of it. It's too much of a coincidence that the kid's mom suddenly fell ill. I'm in my car trying to tail them."

"I agree with you. So catch up with them at the hospital and this time don't let Spencer out of your sight. I want you standing right beside that him while he waits for news on his mom," Hotch ordered.

"Hotch, I was going to do that regardless of what you thought," Morgan said as he turned the same corner he saw the silver Charger take a few seconds ago.

"Shit…," Morgan swore as his SUV pulled onto the new street.

"What is it?" Hotch asked, ignoring Derek's previous comment.

"There's too much traffic. They're about ten car lengths ahead of me but I've got no way to get to them."

"Flip on your lights," Aaron instructed.

"I did, man. This place is gridlocked. I'm boxed in and there isn't anywhere for the other cars to go," Morgan complained angrily.

"Are they stuck too?"

"No, somehow they squeezed through this disaster. Fuck! They're turning. I'm about to lose them," Morgan informed his superior.

"Alright, keep your lights on and get through there as soon as possible. I'll have Garcia send you the address and directions to the sanitarium. At least we know where they're going…you'll just be a few minutes behind them."

"I hope you're right," Morgan muttered, flinging himself back in his seat in frustration.

* * *

It took Derek another fifteen minutes to navigate the busy streets of Vegas, though the further from the main drag he got the easier it was to maneuver.

Morgan rolled down his window as he pulled up to the front gates of the Las Vegas Nevada State Sanitarium.

He didn't even get a chance to push the button on the speaker before a voice said, "Visiting hours are over."

"I'm not here for a visit," he called back, mashing the speaker button down with his left finger. "F.B.I."

"Hold your I.D. up to the camera."

Morgan did as instructed, placing his credentials right in front of the little lens that was embedded in the speaker box. Seconds later there was a buzzing sound and then the gates started to creak as they pulled back, allowing him access to the facility.

The SUV cruised up the driveway and pulled into a spot out front. The guest parking was practically devoid of any vehicles and there was no sign of Wesley's Charger.

"God, I hope they parked in the employee lot," Derek muttered to himself as he got out and made his way up to the entrance.

Again he had to show his I.D. in order to get buzzed into the lobby. He yanked the doors open as soon as the locks released and tramped up to the desk. The woman sitting on a stool behind the counter looked annoyed but asked, "How can I help you, Agent?"

"Yeah, I'm here with Spencer Reid and Captain Bernie Wesley. They should have arrived a few minutes ago. Apparently Spencer's mother is ill and needed medical attention," he explained. "If you could just direct me to where they are I'll get out of your hair."

The receptionist made a duck face at him and said, "I'm sorry, agent. You must be mistaken. Spencer hasn't been here at all and his mother is just fine."

"Are you sure?"

Her voice took on an exasperated tone at his question, "Yes, sir. I'm sure. The doctors always inform me when a patient is ill and their family may be on the way."

"Can you do me a favor and ring the doctor that's on-call right now? I want to hear it from him," he requested.

She let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes, her hand reaching for the phone. "I suppose."

The two sat in silence until the doctor answered. "Yeah, Doctor Miles. I've got this Fed up here asking questions about Diana Reid. He doesn't have a warrant. He just wants to know if she's feeling well. Says that Spencer was on his way up here with Captain Wesley because they got a call that Diana was ill."

Morgan was dying to rip the phone out of her condescending hands but stood by patiently as she listened to the doctor's response.

"Alright. Thanks. Sorry to have bothered you," she said, hanging up a little harder than necessary. "He says that Diana is fine. Nobody called Captain Wesley…hence the fact that they aren't here. Now if there isn't anything else agent, I've got a friend waiting on me finishing up my Words with Friends turn."

Derek didn't bother thanking the surly woman as he turned and left. As he walked out he hit redial on his phone and held it up to his ear. "Hotch, yeah…they're not here and the kid's mother isn't ill. The hospital never called Captain Wesley. It was all a ruse to get Spencer away from us."

The senior agent took a moment to think before replying to Morgan's comment. "I was worried this would happen. I'm going to patch in Garcia. Let's see if she can get a trace on Spencer's phone."

Derek was back in his SUV by the time Garcia picked up and trilled, "What can I do for you,_ mes amis?_"

"Garcia, we need a trace on Spencer Reid's phone," Hotch instructed the tech analyst.

"In a spiffy jiffy, bossman…," she chirped as she click and clacked her fingers against the keyboard. "Alrighty…it seems that the Boy Wonder in question is at…is at home?"

"What?" asked Derek.

"Huh…yah. According to this his phone is at 321 Detroit St., his home address."

"Shit, he must have left his phone there," Morgan said, slamming his hand down on the steering wheel as he navigated out of the sanitarium gates. "Can you try Wesley's number?"

"I can but it's going to take a bit longer. It's a police issued phone so there may be some obstacles in my way. I'll hit you back as soon as I've got something," she explained before hanging up.

"Okay, Morgan. Why don't you come back here while she's looking into that. We've got to come up with a plan and you need to fill us in on what Spencer said before Wesley showed up," Hotch suggested.

"On my way," Morgan said. "I should be there in about ten minutes…if traffic cooperates."

"We'll be waiting," Hotch said succinctly before ending the call and leaving Derek to his worries.

* * *

Agent Derek Morgan found himself impatiently sitting in another jam not even five minutes later. "This city is ri-damn-diculous! How does anyone get around here? Fucking taxis must make millions off of this traffic."

He was about to roll down his window and yell at the jackasses in front of him to get out of his way when Garcia's ringtone went off.

"Yeah momma, what do ya got for me?"

"Besides a can of whipped cream and a few well-placed cherries?" she asked, her flirtatious tone putting a smile on his face.

"Momma…don't tease me. Now what did ya find out? Do I need to turn my car around?" he asked, looking for breaks in the traffic.

"Unfortunately, no. It seems as if our man Wesley was smart enough to turn off his phone or he chucked it – either way I can't get a trace on it," she told him with a deflated tone.

Morgan swore at the news before saying, "Alright momma, you did what you could."

"Sorry sweetie," she apologized before signing off.

"Yeah…," he said absentmindedly, setting his phone down in the cup holder.

He continued on his way to the police station. His driving was bordering on robotic as he tried to think about what the team could do next. In fact, Morgan was so lost in his head that he almost ran a red light and T-boned another car.

He slammed on his brakes, causing his tires to squeal in protest. His body jerked forward as it compensated for the sudden stop. The near missed accident shook him to the core, reminding him that he needed to pay attention and arrive in one piece if he hoped to help the kid.

Outside his window, the hookers on the corner were laughing at his folly. He could hear them making fun of his driving ability through the window. He turned to glare at them when a face in the crowd caught his attention.

It was Kiki.

* * *

Captain Wesley and Spencer were immediately patted down when they entered the foyer of Luthor's mansion. They were then led down an echoing hallway to a pair of white French doors. Beyond them was a massive study lined with bookshelves. There was two easy chairs, a couch, a mahogany desk and a standalone globe filling up the interior of the room. The floor was made up of a dizzying design of black and white tiles which was covered up by a decorative rug where the furniture legs met the floor.

One of the pimp's security guards opened the doors for the two men and waved them into the room. Wesley elbowed his way in front of Spencer and entered the study with a pompous air about him.

"Well, imagine my surprise when the infamous 'Flatfoot' called me for a late night meeting," Luthor stated with a smirk from behind his desk. "Please gentlemen, come in and sit down. I am most curious as to what this pertains to," the pimp said eloquently.

Spencer felt his eyebrows raise at the man's finesse with words. Though he knew that he shouldn't be that surprised; the man was obviously well-educated and smart if he was able to run such a successful prostitution ring.

Following Wesley's lead, Reid sat down on the leather couch that was smack-dab in front of Luthor's desk. The captain sat back against the cushions, his body language oozing the fact that he felt comfortable in his surroundings. Spencer, on the other hand, sat on the edge as if he was ready to flee the room at any moment.

The rival pimp looked over his visitors with a keen eye. Reid could feel the man's discerning gaze scouring every inch of him. He tried to bolster some courage to look the man in the face but the kid just couldn't find the strength. Instead he trained his orbs on the floor and stubbed the toe of his shoe into the carpet.

"Could I offer you gentlemen a drink? I thought I would open up my bottle of Jenessan Arcana. It's a 98 year old Cognac that is only bottled and sealed up on request. I guarantee you've never tasted anything like it," Luthor bragged, snapping his fingers at the guard by the doors.

The man went over to the wet bar that was embedded in the east wall underneath one of the bookshelves. He uncorked the bottle that was sitting there waiting for just this moment and started pouring it into a snifter.

"I would love a glass. None for the boy, though," Wesley said.

The group remained silent until the glasses were delivered to their recipients. When his hands were empty the guard went and stood behind his boss, effectively delivering the message that Luthor was under his protection.

Ignoring the presence of the pimp's security guard, the two men held up their drinks and Luthor said, "Well let's toast. Here's to a friendly meeting of rivals."

"Here. Here," Wesley echoed before he took a small sip. The captain let the liquid linger on his tongue before he swallowed it down. "Now that is amazing. It's smoky, rich and is that a hint of cinnamon that I taste?"

Luthor smiled as he leaned back in his chair, setting his glass down on a coaster. "It is but what should stand out the most are the hints of cedar and blonde tobacco." He tented his fingers and his lips fell into a stern straight line. "So, let's cut to the chase shall we? Why did you call this…ah…business meeting?"

Wesley shifted the stem of his snifter in between his index and middle finger of his left hand. A broad smile painted his face, "Business meeting. I like that. Yeah…this is definitely a business meeting…off the record of course."

"Of course," Luthor echoed.

"Well, let me start by saying how much respect I have for you and your organization. You've shown a remarka-"

"Look, why don't you stop trying to massage up my ego and tell me what this is really about," Luthor told him, seeing right through Wesley's ploy.

Wesley's eyebrows rose slightly at the man's request. He wasn't used to people cutting him off. He raised his right fist to his mouth and coughed, trying to cover up his surprise. "Okay. To put it bluntly – the F.B.I. is closing in on both of us."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"And what do you propose we should do about that? I mean…that's why you're here right. You want us to start working together?"

The captain grinned, "Exactly. I think it's time we stop this silly little turf war and combine our forces. We are the top two…eh…entrepreneurs in the area. There's nothing we can't accomplish if we come together."

Luthor laughed at Wesley's words. "Seriously? You expect me to throw away this empire I built and go in with a cop? The captain of Las Vegas's homicide division, no less. Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"No, not at all. In fact, just opposite. I know that you are quite intelligent or else you wouldn't be where you are now. I mean look at this place. It takes knowledge and skill to achieve a life such as this. That's why I'm going to offer you my best employee as collateral," Wesley explained.

The young man next to him let out a little gasp and turned toward his adopted father. "What?" he whispered.

Wesley shushed him with a jerk of his hand. Spencer sat back, chastised but seriously concerned about what this whole deal was going to mean for him.

Luthor, watching the exchanged, chuckled at the boy's reaction. "Wow, you are a tyrant aren't you? You didn't even tell him what was going on. But seriously Flatty – him? He doesn't look like much to me."

"Ahh…yes. I know that appearances can be deceiving but trust me when I say this young man can make you alot of money. He is a certified genius that has been running my books and managing my caseload since I brought him into my service…not to mention he brings in more money than any of my girls," Wesley bragged.

Spencer mouth was agape at Wesley's words.

The loud guffaw that came from Luthor, "This is your son – adopted son, isn't it?" The rival pimp didn't wait for an answer and turned to the young man, "Didn't I tell you your dad was crooked? Look at him now…trying to pawn you off on me."

"I'm not trying to pawn him off…I'm just trying to give you a sense of security in this deal."

"A sense of security? You're trying to give your son, someone you obviously don't give a shit about, to me in order to make me feel good about working with you?"

"I wasn't lying when I said he was my most valuable asset. And after all of this is over – after the F.B.I. are out of our hair and we are successfully in the clear – I may decide to let you keep him," Wesley said, trying to convince the other man to go along with him.

Luthor didn't look like he was buying the deal so the captain threw out his trump card, "Look, why don't you sample the wares before you make a decision."

The pimp actually looked more surprised than Spencer did at the suggestion. "Come again."

"Let him work his magic on you, so you can see his worth for yourself."

Luthor tilted his chair back and put his hands behind his head, "Alright…don't mind if I do."

Spencer turned to his father and started to protest, "N-no way. I-I'm not –"

Another quick backhand silenced his objection, "This isn't up to you boy. Now get over there and do your job."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. I-I'm not doing it. A-and you can't just 'give' me to someone else. I-I'm a human being –" his diatribe was cut off by Wesley reaching over and grabbing his chin.

"Do not make me look foolish, boy. Do as you're told!" he seethed, embarrassed that Luthor was watching is adopted son's insolence.

"You know Flatty…how can I do business with someone that can't even control his own people? You can't even get your son to listen to you. Why would anyone else?" Luthor asked, smugly.

Wesley looked back at his rival and said, "Oh, he'll do what he's told. He's just got a stubborn streak that I have to beat out of him sometimes. Like now, for example."

The pimp sniggered again, "You know what, don't worry about it. Theo, go help the boy out."

Spencer's eyes went wide as Wesley dropped his hand from his chin and a set of sturdy fingers seized his right bicep. The security guard, Theo, jerked him up from his seat and dragged him over to Luthor's chair. The larger man transferred his grip down to the boy's wrist then twisted Reid's arm behind his back to the point that it started to hurt.

"Now, son…are you going to do as you're told or is Leo going to have to convince you?" Luthor asked seriously.

Suppressing a wince, Spencer put on a brave face and said, "I'm not doing it."

"We'll see," the pimp said, gesturing at his guard.

Theo immediately pulled the kid's wiry wrist upward, putting an insane amount of pressure on his shoulder joint. He then kicked in Spencer's knees in an effort to force him down to the ground. Luthor twisted his chair around toward the now kneeling boy, putting his crotch right level with the young man's face.

"Now, show me what you're worth."

* * *

**Ahhh...the end is nigh but not here yet. A few more chapters methinks.**

**Rest assured I do have an endgame and hopefully Spencer will be able to recover.**

**Till next time!**


	14. Wrong Choice

Morgan pulled his car over to the curb and turned on his hazard lights. He rolled down his window and shouted, "Kiki? You're Kiki, right?"

The vivacious blonde looked toward his SUV at the sound of his voice. He saw her eyes flash in recognition. The woman turned toward her friend and said something before she pushed off the pole she had been leaning on and walked toward his vehicle. "Ya're the agent that was with String, right?" she asked, though she clearly knew the answer.

"Right. Agent Morgan."

"So, waddya want, Mr. F.B.I.? I know ya don't wanna piece of me…or maybe ya do? But I'm not gonna fall for that trap," she said, turning to walk away.

"No, wait!" he called desperately. "It's about Spencer – uh…String. He's in trouble and I need your help."

Her small body froze. She twisted back around slowly, "That's not funny, Agent Morgan."

"I'm not joking. Look, just hop in the car and we can talk," Derek suggested, gesturing to the passenger seat.

She looked him up and down. Kiki could see the worry etched on his face and knew he was telling her the truth about String. "Alright…"

Morgan blew out the breath of air he had been holding. "Thank God."

The petite prostitute climbed up in the seat quickly and turned toward the profiler. "Spill. Tell me what's goin on with String. How's he in trouble?"

"I can't tell you everything but what I can say is that we know that Captain Wesley and Spencer are somehow involved with the recently murdered prostitutes. We know that the kid isn't the one doing the killing but he knows who is…and he knows how the captain is involved," he said, noticing that Kiki bristled at the mention of Captain Wesley and the murders. "Has he talked to you about any of it? Did he tell you anything? Please…the kid is missing and we are worried about his safety."

"I-I might know somethin," she said cautiously.

Derek looked at her beseechingly, "Would you be willing to come down to the station and talk to my team?"

At the mention of the police station Kiki suddenly flipped out, "Hell no! I ain't goin down there! If…if they sees me there…they'll…they'll…"

"Whoa whoa whoa, calm down. You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to," he said in an effort to placate her. "Now who are you worried about seeing you?"

"His…his men. His goons. They do all his dirty work for him," she said.

"Who's men? Who?"

"Flatfoot."

"You're pimp?"

"Not just mine…String's too," she spilled.

"Why would his men be at the station?" he asked.

She gave him a look that said she couldn't believe he asked her such a dumb question. "Don't ya tell me ya haven't figured it out yet."

"What?" he inquired. He needed to hear her say it.

"Captain Wesley is Flatfoot," she said exasperatedly.

"And his fellow detectives are his goons," Morgan stated.

She nodded in confirmation. "That's why, agent, I can't go down there. They'll know I squealed and they'll find a way to get back at me - maybe even kill me."

"Alright, how about I patch my team in over the phone and you tell us everything that you feel comfortable sharing? If we ask you something you don't want to answer just say so," he told her.

"And this will help ya find String?"

"I don't know. It depends on what information you have…but I can tell you this, it can't hurt."

"Can ya tell me what happened to him first?"

"Of course," he said. "I went over to his apartment tonight because he was attacked by one of the detectives at work. We got to talking and he told me quite a bit about his…ah…father, Captain Wesley and how he uses him. He had just agreed to give a formal statement incriminating Wesley when the good captain knocked on the door. He told Spencer his mom was ill and told him he'd take him to see her at the hospital. The only thing is…well…the kid's mom isn't sick and they never showed up at the facility. Now we don't know where they are or what his intentions are for Spencer," Morgan explained in a rush, leaving out some of the case sensitive details on purpose.

Kiki, who's face had paled throughout Morgan's story, whispered, "Ya let him go with Flat Dick?"

"I-I couldn't stop him. Spencer was determined to go with him to see his mom," Derek said.

"Fuckin A, do ya know what ya've done?" she exclaimed.

"Well, I know now that I let him drive off with his abusive pimp of an adopted father," the agent said bitterly.

"No! It's not just that…ya just let him ride off with a murderer," she cried, tears of worry welling in her eyes. She reached out her hand and gripped his forearm tightly, squeezing it to emphasize his point.

The profiler's face grew dark, knowing that what she was about to tell him was probably what Spencer was going to say before Wesley interrupted them. "Hold on. Let me call my team."

* * *

Reid started to panic as his head was pushed down toward the pimp's exposed crotch. Something inside of him broke at the thought of being assaulted again – of being helpless again. He couldn't take this anymore; he needed a way out and fast. His brilliant mind started filtering ideas faster than lightning in the hopes that he wouldn't have to go through with this. Finally, he resigned himself to the fact that the only way to escape this dire situation was to go with it.

So as the bulbous piece of flesh came into sight he opened his mouth and enveloped the tip. He felt a hand wrap around the back of his skull and push him down further onto the appendage. When Spencer's body started to react to the depth the organ had reached he knew it was time.

Without even a moment's hesitation he clamped down his teeth, biting the shit out of the Luthor's penis.

An animalistic howl of pain erupted from the pimp. His hand immediately left Reid's head as he tried to dislodge the boy from his body. Spencer ground his teeth a little more, intent on breaking the skin before letting go. The second the taste of blood entered his mouth he loosened his jaw and slid backwards onto the floor.

Theo, discombobulated by his boss's reaction to the blow job, released his grip on the kid's arm. The security guard started to step toward his boss when the boy in front of him whirled around to face him. Confused, the man didn't even realize that the pipsqueak had reached out and grabbed his gun from its holster. It wasn't until the kid stood up that Theo even started to react. But it was too late. The large man blacked out seconds later when the butt of his gun nailed his left temple, sending him crashing to the floor.

Spencer, slightly amazed at his own actions, didn't hesitate to leave Theo's body crumpled on the floor before he turned around and pointed the gun at his adopted father. To his utter dismay the captain didn't look in the least alarmed; the officer's expression was actually oozing amusement.

"So what now, boy? You going to shoot me too?" Wesley asked acerbically.

The genius didn't respond. He was too busy trying to steady his hand as they reacted to the surge of adrenaline coursing through his body.

"Fuck, watching you right now I can see that you don't know shit about aiming," Wesley continued. "Hell, I doubt you even know how to pull the trigger. Do ya? Huh? Do you know how to pull the trigger?"

The sound of the gun cocking was enough of an answer to Wesley's mocking question. Spencer's face hardened. "Don't move off that couch," he ordered.

The captain spread out his arms and said, "Where would I go?"

"I'm leaving here. I'm leaving you and your control. You'll never force me to do anything again," Spencer vowed, inching toward the doors. "I'm going to be in charge of my own life now. Not you."

"I highly doubt that," Wesley retorted with a snort.

Behind Spencer's back he could hear Luthor still moaning in pain. He quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw that the pimp was still out of commission as he tried to staunch the blood flow with tissues from his desk.

"Why? I'm perfectly capable of running my own life. Something I've let you do for too long."

"You know why," the captain said. "Because I've got you and your mother under my thumb. In fact, go ahead…run away…I'll just call up the sanitarium and order them to take you in. Clearly you've lost your mind – what with threatening your own father with a gun. You'll be locked up in hours."

"They won't find me. I'm not going home," the young man declared.

"And what about your mother? Are you abandoning her? Are you really going to walk away from her like your father did? Because if you leave her with me I'll make sure the hospital never lets you in to see her again. And I'll make them cut you off from all forms of communication: letters, phone calls, email communications, hell – even telegrams," Wesley threatened.

"I'll get a lawyer. I'm going to get your power over us revoked," Spencer said, keeping his gun trained on his father as he inched closer and closer to the French doors.

"With what money? You're poorer than dirt."

"I'll gamble. It won't take me more than a day to make the money I need to hire someone," the genius countered.

Spencer could see the angry glint in Wesley's eyes when the other man realized that his once cowed son was serious. "You won't get away from me, boy. I run this city! No one will take your case. I'll make sure of it."

"Someone already has," the boy accidentally confessed.

"Who? Who the hell would defend you?"

"None of your business. Face it _father_, you're going to lose this time," Spencer goaded heatedly.

"Ha! Lose to a dirty whore like you? Never. I mean, look at you. You are scum, boy. You are the lowest creature on this planet and whoever is helping you is a fool. And when I find out who they are I'll pay them off and they'll leave you high and dry. Anyone can be bought for the right price," Wesley spat out scathingly.

"That's where you're wrong. I'm worth so much more that what you think you see. And I'm going to prove it," Spencer retorted, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait," Wesley demanded as he stood up from the couch. "You walk out those doors and you'll never find a moment of peace again. I will hunt you down and I will kill you. You know way too much about my business affairs and I can't have a loose cannon walking about. So this is your last chance, whore. Get your ass back in here and take your punishment for this foolish defiance or go on the run for your life."

Spencer didn't think twice before speaking, "I'd rather take my chances out there."

The youth turned to leave the room when behind him he heard a scuffling sound behind him. He turned back and saw that Luthor was trying to reach for his phone on his desk.

Deciding that he didn't have very much time to make a clean escape Spencer lunged for the door handle again. Only this time when his hand touched the metal it was smacked down by a powerful strike from Wesley. The larger man knew he had caught his adopted son by surprise and used his advantage to shove the boy to the floor.

Reid, momentarily startled, fell flat on his back but was still clenching the gun. He heard a savage growl and looked up to see Wesley's snarling face hovering above him.

"Wrong choice, _son_," he hissed venomously before pouncing down onto his prey.

* * *

**Only one more chapter left.**

**Till next time!**


	15. I'm Not Through With You Yet

It didn't take long for Kiki to spill everything to the profilers. She caught them up on Spencer's second job, Wesley's crooked ways, and the turf war that had been taking place between the two rivaling pimps. She left nothing out; her fear for Spencer's safety was too strong to keep her from holding anything back.

When she had finished her tale the profilers asked her a few questions before they started to postulate where Wesley would have taken his adopted son. The worried prostitute sat in the passenger seat listening to the agents throw ideas back and forth for a few minutes before she interrupted. "Excuse me, but have ya'll tried trackin Flatty?"

Morgan turned to look at her and said, "Of course we tried his phone. Nothing. He must have turned it off or something."

She nodded her head and looked around the SUV, "Did ya try his car?"

"What?"

Kiki shifted in her seat and gave the profiler an annoyed look, "Come on…I've seen plenty of cop show re-runs durin the day. They always catch the bad guy by trackin his car or somethin like that. And if Flatty was in a silver Charger like ya said then he was definitely drivin one of the station's undercover cars. And on the TV they always show cop cars with those GPS things in them."

"How do you know it wasn't just his actual car?" Morgan asked.

"Because Flatty's actual ride is one of those big trucks - ya know, the type that screams 'I have a small dick," she said.

"Hotch?" Morgan called out to his unit chief. A glint of hope tinged his voice, masking the frustration he was feeling at the fact that the team hadn't thought of this already.

"I heard her, Morgan. We've got Garcia on it now," the man said.

The unlikely duo sat silently in the car waiting for the results of the tech analyst's efforts.

"Morgan?"

"Tell me something good, Hotch."

"We've got a location. Kiki, does 26525 Goddard Rd sound at all familiar to you?" Aaron asked.

Derek could see the gears turning in Kiki's mind as she thought about the location. He knew she came up with some the second her eyes went wide and she brought a hand up to her mouth.

"What is it?" Morgan demanded. "Where is it?"

"I-I'm not sure if I'm right…but I'm think that's the side of town Luthor lives on…it's all fancy and shit. Ya know, those houses have gates and guards…but…but why would Flatty go there?" she asked after she thought about it some more.

Morgan put the car into gear, "I don't know but it can't be good. Hotch, we'll meet you there!"

* * *

The profiler and the prostitute drove to the location in utter silence. There was nothing to be said that could change the situation and they were both content with keeping their worried thoughts to themselves. The only thing that intermittently disrupted their noiseless drive was the electronic voice of the GPS unit guiding their way.

The SUV slowed to a crawl as they approached their final destination. Morgan turned off the headlights and parked the vehicle on the curb about 100 feet from the wrought iron gate.

Kiki was the first to speak, "Why did ya stop here? Shouldn't we be rammin those fuckin gates and going in to save String?"

"_We_ aren't doing anything. You're going to stay with the car and I'm going to go help our boy," he said while undoing his seat buckle.

"Like hell I will!" she exclaimed, her fingers scrambling to release her own safety belt.

"Look, Kiki…I can't be worried about you while I'm trying to get to Spencer," Morgan explained as he opened his car door.

"Worried about me? Hun…I don't think ya realize that I've been workin the streets since I was 16. I can take care of myself. I don't need some big strong F.B.I. agent lookin out for me," she snarled. "Besides, how are ya planning on getting in there…huh? Ya just gonna walk up and ask them to open the gates?"

Morgan knew he had offended the working girl but didn't have time to care, "I'm going to hop the fence."

She laughed cynically as she walked around the car to meet him face to face. "Right, and ya are gonna stab yaself on one of those spikes in the process. Watch and learn," she said as she began to saunter over to the communication box with a saucy step.

"Kiki, wait!" Morgan hissed, running up to her and grabbing her arm. "You're not authorized to help. Just stay in the car and wait for me to get back with the kid."

The prostitute went to respond but was interrupted by the arrival of multiple law enforcement vehicles, including another black SUV. The duo turned toward the chaos and watched as officers and agents piled out of their cars. "These must be your friends," Kiki drawled sarcastically.

"Yeah…," Morgan said.

Hotch came up to Derek immediately and asked, "You weren't going to wait for us, were you?"

The profiler gave his boss a defiant look, "The kid's life could be on the line…I was going to do what I had to do in order to help him."

The unit chief nodded, "We'll discuss that later." The man's eyes started to scrutinize the barrier that was erected between them and Luthor's house. "How were you planning on getting over the fence?"

Kiki piped up, "The genius was gonna try jumpin over it."

Hotch turned his gaze toward the scantily clad woman, "You must be Kiki. I'm Agent Hotchner. Thank you for all of your help."

"I am but can we skip past the intros? My little bro may be in there and he if he is then he'll need some help," she said sternly, bringing the focus back to Spencer.

"Right. Morgan, we rounded up a few officers that aren't under Wesley's thumb. They have been briefed on the situation and are ready to help. Turns out the captain wasn't very popular with his subordinates," Hotch started explaining.

"That's great, Hotch. But that doesn't get us through that fence," Derek responded, his hand tapping out a nervous pattern against his leg. He didn't like that they were wasting time out here talking when they should be storming the gates.

Rossi, who had just approached the trio, supplied the solution to their dilemma, "Ah…that's not going to be a problem. Officer Miller over there told me that all of these gates have a police code programed into them that can be inputted to override their controls. We're ready to go whenever you guys are through talking."

Aaron turned back to Morgan and Kiki, "You two will follow behind us. Kiki, you have to stay in the car while we secure the house – no exceptions."

She nodded her head begrudgingly, "Fine. But the second you get String outta that house I'ma gonna be there."

The unit chief didn't respond, knowing that there would be no way to stop the stubborn woman the moment she saw her friend. "Let's go."

Morgan's SUV jerked to a halt when Hotch's vehicle stopped suddenly right in front of them. Officer Miller had moments ago entered the police emergency code into the box and opened the gates. Knowing that whomever was manning the security systems would be immediately notified the profilers sped through the entrance, intent on getting to the house before Luthor's could set up a good offense.

"Stay here!" Derek ordered Kiki as he flung the vehicle in park upon seeing his fellow agents jump out of their SUV with their guns drawn.

Once Morgan was out of the vehicle he heard Hotch's firm voice, "F.B.I. Drop the weapon."

It wasn't until the agent was rounding the side of the black SUV he heard the response of a frightened voice shouting, "D-don't come any closer!"

With deliberately slow steps, Morgan cautiously stepped up behind Hotch and Rossi. He positioned himself between the two men with his gun held high. When his eyes caught sight of the source of the panicky voice he let out a gasp.

There at the edge of the hedge lined winding driveway was a blood-spattered Spencer Reid.

The young man's clothes were covered in crimson and he had streaks of red on his pale face. Spencer's short hair appeared to be wet and his eyes were wide with a wild look to them. In his shaking hands he held a Glock, which was trained on the agents spread out in front of him. It was obvious the boy was in shock and frightened out of his wits.

"S-stay b-back or I-I'll shoot," the assistant threatened, moving the aim of his gun from agent to agent in an amateur fashion. "J-just let m-me go a-and no one will get hurt."

"Hotch, let me try something," Derek whispered to his superior.

The unit chief nodded and stepped aside to let his subordinate through.

Morgan holstered his weapon and put his hands up high in the air. "Spencer…it's me, Morgan. You're safe kid. I promise. No one here wants to hurt you. You've just gotta put the gun down."

The youth's eyes latched onto Derek's face at the sound of his voice. The agent could still see the panic residing within their honeyed depths. "Kid, remember when I told you to have faith in me? This is one of those times. I swear to God that none of these people here are a threat. Now just lower your weapon."

"M-Morgan?" Spencer asked as his sanity tried to fight its way through the terror filling his brain.

"Ya kid…it's me," the man said, stepping forth cautiously. He held out his hand toward the gun, hoping that the young man would relinquish it to him.

"Morgan…he-he tricked me. H-he lied about my mom. He was trying to give me away t-to Luthor," Reid said brokenly. "Th-they made me p-perf-"

"It's okay, Spencer. You don't have to tell me now. Just hand me the gun and we'll get everything taken care of," Morgan coaxed gently.

Spencer blinked his expressive orbs and looked down at his hands. His brain's fight for clarity must have won out for seconds later he dropped his left hand and passed the agent the weapon.

Morgan snatched it from the kid's hand and passed it back to Rossi. He then raced forward and caught the lanky youth as his legs gave out beneath him.

"Reid? Spencer? Are you alright?" Morgan asked as he lowered the two of them down to the ground. The profiler's mind couldn't help but worry that the young man was injured and bleeding out on him.

The boy's fingers reached up and seized the fabric of Derek's shirt that was peeking through the sides of the agent's bulletproof vest. He then pushed his face into the man's chest and started sobbing uncontrollably.

"Get me an ambulance," Derek demanded when looked up at his fellow agents. He then trained his gaze back on the young man and patted him on the back, trying to console him. "It's alright. You're safe now. It's over. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Hotch stepped forth while JJ ran back to Morgan's SUV. "Stay here with him until the ambulance comes. See if you can figure out what happened to him. We're going to head up to the house."

Derek nodded silently. Moments later a high pitched voice called out, "String! String, are you okay?"

Kiki's heels clicked violently against the pavement as she scurried over to her self-proclaimed little brother. She dropped to the ground next to Morgan and started rubbing circles on Spencer's back. "String?"

Behind her the unit chief's SUV continued up the driveway with a few squad cars following him, leaving Morgan behind with two officers for protection until the medics arrived.

Derek turned his attention back to Spencer after the red glow of the taillights disappeared. He hadn't even realized until then that the assistant had been mumbling something into his vest. "I…mean…I…no…cho-" was all he could make out of the kid's garbled words.

Morgan slowly extracted himself from the boy by putting his hands on Spencer's wiry shoulders and pushing him back slightly. "Pretty Boy? What was that you said?"

Tear-filled pools looked back at him, pleading him to understand. "I-I said that I didn't mean to k-kill him. I-I had no choice," Spencer sputtered, his chest heaving as panic started to regain control over his emotions.

"Kill who?" Kiki whispered, halting her soothing circles to hear the answer.

Reid was practically hyperventilating now, his body shaking uncontrollably as he tried to force out his response. "W-W-Wesley," he managed to utter before he passed out from the overwhelming stress his body had endured over the last few hours.

* * *

A rhythmic beeping sound infiltrated the darkness clouding Spencer's mind. Since when did his alarm clock make this sound?

He threw his hand out to hit the off button but was surprisingly met with what felt like a metal rail instead of his nightstand. Deciding that he should open his eyes and figure out where he was, Spencer slowly cracked open his heavy lids.

What greeted him was totally unexpected – white ceiling tiles.

He blinked multiple times and scrunched up his nose in confusion.

"Welcome back, kid."

Spencer's body jerked in surprise. He turned his head and saw Agent Derek Morgan sitting in a cushioned chair by the window. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around the hospital room. "What happened?"

Derek sighed and pulled his chair closer to the bed. "How much do you remember?"

"I-uh-I remember…," he paused as the images started infiltrating his mind. He gulped down a deep breath of air before continuing, "W-Wesley tricked me and took me to Luthor's. And…and…"

"Whoa whoa whoa…we don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to," Morgan said, laying his hand on the kid's exposed arm.

"No. I-I want to know. I need to know."

"Okay…well why don't you let me skip us ahead a bit. Do you remember us finding you?"

Reid nodded his head, "Kinda. I remember giving you my gun…and I think…was Kiki there?"

Derek smiled, "Yeah, she was. She'd be here right now if I hadn't sent her home to get some sleep. Your sister is one obstinate woman."

Spencer gave a halfhearted laugh at the description, "She can be stubborn…uh…how did I end up here?"

"You passed out in my arms…after you admitted to killing Wesley," Morgan stated solemnly.

The assistant's eyes went grew as big as saucers. "I-I killed him. Oh my God…I killed him." His hand flew up to his chest and he pushed his palm against his heart. With panicked breaths he looked at Morgan in confusion, "Why aren't I handcuffed to the bed? Shouldn't I be under arrest? Oh God…he was right…I'll never see my mom again."

Derek jumped out of his chair and laid his hands on both of Spencer shoulders. "Pretty Boy, look at me. Look at me kid," he ordered sternly. He waited until the unsure brown eyes met his own before he continued, "You are not under arrest. We know that what you did to Wesley was out of self-defense. Just calm down and let me explain. Now breathe with me."

Morgan coached Spencer into evening out his breaths. After a few minutes their breathing patterns were the same and the genius seemed to be calmer.

"S-so I'm n-not under arrest?"

"No, kid…and you didn't kill anybody."

"What?" Reid asked incredulously.

A big grin broke out on Derek's face and he started to chuckle.

Confused by his companion's reaction to his question, Reid asked again, "What do you mean I didn't kill him? I shot him. His blood was all over me. How can that possibly be funny?"

The profiler's laughs died away when he saw how upset the boy was. His smile fell before he spoke, "You didn't kill him, kid. Yes, you did shoot him but not fatally. The reason why I'm laughing is because I never want to go up against you in a gunfight."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you have excellent aim."

Spencer furrowed his brow.

"Look kid, let's just say that Wesley is literally going to be someone's "bitch" in prison," Morgan said, snorting in order to cover the laugh that was trying to escape.

A glint of glee entered Spencer's expression when he realized what Derek was saying, "You mean…"

"Oh yeah, kid. You totally hit his family jewels," Morgan said before he burst out laughing once again.

The profiler's amusement was catching and before he knew it Reid found himself laughing out loud right along with him.

The two sat there enjoying the moment until Spencer spotted the bandage wrapped around his arm. He fingered it, pulling at the white gauze trying to peer at what was hidden underneath.

"They had to give you a few stitches to close that up," Morgan supplied, watching the genius examine his wound.

Spencer looked at him, "How many?"

"Five."

"That's not too bad. D-did they ask you what caused it?" he asked, hoping the agent didn't tell the doctors about his suicide attempt.

"Yeah, but I said you must have gotten it when you were trying to escape."

Reid gave him a weak smile, "Thanks."

Derek shifted his body closer, "I hope I made the right choice in telling them that. I mean…you're not going to try it again are you? I don't want to get a call saying you went through with it a few months from now."

"I-uh…no. I don't want to go through with…that anymore. I-uh…I think with Wesley out of the way things just might start getting better for me. That and I'm through letting people push me around," Spencer said with growing conviction behind each word.

"Good for you, Pretty Boy. With that attitude and a little bit of therapy you'll heal in no time," Morgan complimented, sitting back in his seat.

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Spencer inquired abruptly, "Three months?"

"What was that?"

"You said you didn't want to get a call about me in three months. Why would someone call you about me?" Spencer asked, steering the conversation into an unexpected direction.

Morgan, slightly surprised that the youth picked up on that comment, shook his head at the fact that Spencer really didn't think that people cared about him. "Because I'm gonna be checking up on you."

"Why?"

"You're really not used to people being invested in your wellbeing…are you?"

"I-I just don't understand why an F.B.I. agent would care about what happens to me. I mean…unless you're keeping tabs on me because I'm a witness and you don't want anything bad happening to me so I can take the stand against Wesley."

"Kid, do you really think that's the only reason I would care about what happens to you?"

Spencer shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

Morgan sighed, "Let's just say you've grown on me and I want to make sure you get back on your feet."

The genius dipped his head and whispered, "Thanks."

Derek squeezed his arm, "No problem."

The two friends continued talking for the next hour, discussing what had happened after Spencer passed out, the charges that were being brought up against Captain Wesley and his men, and Reid's involvement in everything. It wasn't until the young man's eyes started drooping that Morgan decided to make his exit.

"Alright kid, it looks like your about to knock out on me again. I'm gonna get going and let you rest. Kiki said she'd be back in the morning. I left my card by your phone so you can call me if you need to…and do me a favor. Stop worrying about everything, okay? Just let us handle it," Morgan said, ruffling Reid's hair with his last words.

Spencer couldn't help but smile at the man's friendly gesture. "Thanks again, Agent Morgan."

"It's Derek."

"Thanks again, Derek."

"Anytime, kid."

* * *

**Two Days Later**

Spencer watched as Agent Prentiss erased the white board and said, "Wow, you guys work fast."

She laughed at his comment, "Yeah, and you heal fast."

"That's not true. Besides a few scratches and bruises there really wasn't anything wrong with me. The hospital had no reason to keep me more than one night," he argued, though he was still slightly self-conscious about the fading black and blue marks that marred his skin.

"If you say so," she said doubtfully, "…but to be honest, we're usually gone long before now. This case was a special circumstance."

"How so?"

Emily turned and rolled her eyes at him. "Really?"

"What?"

"For a genius, you are pretty clueless," she teased. Unfortunately Prentiss saw the boy grimace at her good-natured ribbing, "Spencer…I was kidding. Sorry."

He flashed her a smile, "It's no problem. I'm used to jokes going over my head…well that and most of the time people aren't joking when they say those things to me."

She opened her mouth to say something else when Morgan and JJ walked in carrying two cardboard boxes. "Here we go. This is the last load," the muscular man said, grunting as he set his box down on the table.

"Yeah, the Deputy Chief shouldn't have any issues with putting Wesley and his goons away for a long time," JJ added, dropping her box with a loud thump.

"Do you think he'll still need me to testify?" Spencer asked.

Morgan looked over at the young man, "Yeah Pretty Boy…your testimony will solidify all of this evidence against them. It would help if you could convince Kiki to do it too."

Spencer shook his head, "No…she'd never agree to it. It would ruin her chances of finding another…another steady job."

"And what about you? Are you going to look for another _job_?" Agent Rossi probed, walking into the room.

The genius's face started to redden at the question. "I…um…I was actually thinking about working here for a little while longer and then…maybe in the fall I could go to college."

"Really?" Prentiss asked. "That's awesome! Where do you want to go?"

"I was thinking about trying Cal Tech…or I don't know…maybe Yale or Georgetown."

"Any of them would be lucky to have you," Morgan declared.

"What do you want to study?" Emily probed, curious as to what the genius might be interested in.

"Ah, I wouldn't mind learning more about chemistry, physics, mathematics…oh and I've always found psychology and sociology fascinating too. Honestly, I wouldn't know where to start…maybe I'd just get degrees in them all. I also wouldn't mind learning more about…," strangely the young man trailed off and didn't finish his thought.

"About what?" JJ questioned.

Spencer looked at the group of agents in the room with him and said shyly, "I…uh…wouldn't mind learning more about criminology and forensic psychology…you know, the stuff you guys apply from day to day to help you build your profiles."

Rossi looked slightly flattered, "So you would like to be one of us one day?"

"I don't know…I find what you guys do to be extremely interesting and I think I'd be really good at it. But I think it's too soon to commit myself to a career when I don't know what all my options are. Well, that and the fact that I haven't even applied to a single university yet. So I have no idea where I'll be accepted or if I'll even get in anywhere at all.

"What do you mean? I bet all the major universities would be fighting over you," JJ stated emphatically.

Spencer looked down at the ground and started stubbing his toe against the tile. "I don't know. There are a few obstacles in my way. You know, things that might prevent me from going or getting accepted at all."

"Like what?" demanded Rossi.

"Well…Wesley kinda made sure I had a record…so I don't know if any college would want me roaming their halls. That and…uh…college is expensive and I don't know if I'll be able to get any scholarships to help me out. Plus I really want to move my mom out of her current facility into someplace better…so any money I make here I'll be putting towards that."

Because his head was down as he listed all of the possible hurdles he'd have to overcome he missed the knowing look the profilers passed among one another.

"Yeah…uh…anyways. When does your flight leave?" Reid asked in an effort to get the attention off of himself.

"We've got an hour," Hotch informed Spencer, closing the door behind him. "Which means we'll need to leave here in half of that."

The others groaned at the announcement.

"Really, Hotch? I was hoping that maybe we'd get another day to actually enjoy this oversized adult playground," Morgan suggested, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Sorry, but I got a call from Strauss and she's already lined up another case for us. Luckily it's back home, but we have work to do nonetheless," Hotch said, shooting down the agent's hopes.

"Seriously!?"

"Unfortunately," the unit chief admitted, "and from a cursory glance it looks like the makings of teenage Satanists."

Again the group groaned but before anyone could say a word, Spencer started talking. "You know, maybe you'll just be dealing with type one teen Satanists. They assume the satanic identity to rebel usually through minor crime, theft and vandalism to churches, schools, and symbols of authority. When combined with drugs and alcohol they may turn violent but their killings are accidental. Usually resulting from their hobby getting out of control. The killings only turn serial –"*

"Whoa kid," Rossi said, holding up his hands in order to stop Reid's ramble. "That was out of my book word for word."*

Spencer clamped his jaw shut tightly and looked away from the veteran profiler in embarrassment.

Morgan, smiling like a Cheshire cat, clapped his hand on Reid's back and said, "You really memorized Rossi's book?"

"I remember everything I read," he said uncomfortably.

"So you have a photographic memory?" JJ asked.

"Eidetic, actually. I-it pertains only to things I read. Though I do tend to remember conversations and visual observations with great accuracy too," he explained.

"That's amazing," Emily said, noticing the genius's uncomfortable body language.

"Yeah…well, most of the time," Reid murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"I-uh…can we not talk about that right now…," Spencer implored the group.

Realizing that they hit a sore spot, the profilers dropped the subject.

"So, kid – have you read all my books?" Rossi inquired in fascination.

Reid, realizing that the older man was actually interested in his answer, nodded his head. "Y-yes sir. I've read them all. I found them riveting. I-if I-I could talk to you later about your work with the Scarsdale Skinner, that would be great. Psycholinguistics is an incredibly dynamic field and the fact that your profile of his reading habits ultimately lead to his capture is something I find so incredibly –"**

This time Morgan was the one to cut off the genius's enthusiastic ramble. "Reid, Reid, Reid. I'll give you his number and you can call and talk to him about it later."

"Really?" Spencer said eagerly.

Rossi gave Derek a glare that said 'I'll get you for that' before smiling at the young man. "Call me anytime, kiddo. Just don't expect me to always be available."

"Of course, sir."

"And please, drop the sir. It makes me sound too old. Just call me Rossi or Dave," the Italian instructed.

"Yes, si – uh, Rossi. But you know according to your biography you are about fifty –"

"Kid, drop it," Morgan said with a chuckle.

"Oh, uh…sorry," Spencer mumbled awkwardly.

Seeing a break in the conversation, Aaron chose to step in and get his team refocused on packing up their belongings. "Anyways, like I said – we need to be out of here in a half hour."

"Actually…at this time of day, if you factor in construction and rush hour traffic flow, you'd be better off leaving in the next fifteen minutes…if you hope to take off on time that is," Spencer supplied sheepishly.

The team of profilers shared a few smiles between them. There was no stopping the young man's rambles now that his father wasn't around to censor him.

"Well, I guess we should hurry up then," Emily announced to the room, spurring her fellow agents into action.

The group, Spencer included, finished tidying up the materials from the evidence board, bagging and labeling anything that needed to go to the attorney's office and filling out a few pieces of paperwork. Not even ten minutes later the room was completely spic and span, devoid of any sign that the profilers had ever been in it.

As the agents started slinging their bags over their shoulders, the young genius felt a wave of sorrow flow through him. He supposed it was because he was about to watch the only people, besides his mother and Kiki, that had ever cared for his well-being walk out of his life. He couldn't help but feel a bit hollow at the loss of their presence. Internally he was berating himself for latching on to them so quickly; because like a moth to a flame he had allowed himself to get to close and now he was going to suffer the consequences – loneliness, seclusion and solitude.

"I guess this is goodbye," he said softly, looking down at his fingers and picking the skin around the nails. "I-I wanted to say thank you again for all your help. I-I don't think I would have survived much longer if you guys hadn't of come along when you did."

The room was silent for a moment and Reid started worrying that what he said might have been too personal.

"Kid, this is only goodbye for now. Remember what I told you at the hospital? I'm going to keep checking up on you. I'm not through with you yet," Morgan told him.

"None of us are, Reid," Emily declared.

JJ's eyes danced with joy as she spoke the next words, "In fact…we have a few surprises for you."

"Surprises?"

"Yeah, for instance…Morgan told us how Wesley put your mom away in that unsavory facility. So, yesterday Emily and I did some research and made a few phone calls," she paused, intentionally adding some suspense to her next words, "…and we got your mom a spot at a private hospital. It's called Bennington Sanitarium and they are expecting your call."

Spencer's eyes went wide with wonder but after he thought through her words his expression quickly switched to disappointment.

JJ immediately noticed the change, "What's wrong? Just a few minutes ago you were saying that you wanted to move your mom from her current place."

"Oh…I do…but it's just…like I said earlier…I don't know if I'll be able to afford it," he admitted with shame.

"Well then it's a good thing that JJ and I have already discussed government aid and payment plans with the director. Believe me, Reid, they are ready to work with you and your current finances," Emily told him.

"Really?" he asked with hope coloring his voice.

"Really," she stated with a toothy smile.

"Wow…I…I can't thank you enough," Spencer said.

"That's not all, kiddo," Rossi said, getting the young boy's attention.

"I-I can't imagine what else –"

"Well for starters, it turns out you qualify and have been approved for the Profiler's Choice Scholarship. It'll pay for all four years of college including food, books, and housing," David announced.

"Wha-"

"I know. I know. You haven't applied for any scholarships yet. I took care of this one for you," the wealthy man said.

"Sir, I-I can't accept that," Spencer uttered, knowing that the famous profiler was actually providing the funding out of his own pocket. "And I'd never be able to pay you back."

Rossi smiled and said, "You can and will accept it. And as for paying me back…well…I'm going to need help researching and compiling facts for my next book."

The genius was speechless. One of the most famous profilers in the whole world wanted his help!

"And I'm going to start filling out the paperwork and filing motions to help you get back custody of your mom. We'll also officially remove Wesley as your power of attorney and we'll see about getting you the money Wesley earned when he sold off your mother's estate," Hotch informed Spencer.

"And if that wasn't enough, Pretty Boy, our tech analyst is going to look into those charges that are on your record to see if she can uh…," Morgan stopped and looked at his superior, "…uh…clean it up."

"Morgan..." Hotch said seriously. "Tell Garcia she – "

"Hotch, man…you know that Baby Girl won't listen to reason once she gets an idea in her head. Besides…the charges against Spencer were false to begin with. How can she get in trouble for removing something that shouldn't have been there in the first place?" the muscular man asked.

"Just tell her to make sure she doesn't get caught," the stoic man ordered with a wink.

"Has my buxom beauty ever been caught?"

The senior agent rolled his eyes and looked at his watch. "It's time to get going."

Collectively the team started to make their way out the door, saying goodbye to their new friend as they exited.

Morgan, though, hung back for a minute. He stood there and looked at the young man that had changed so much over the week they'd been in Vegas. He smiled at him and said, "You take care now, kid. We'll be in touch – I'll be in touch soon. And if you do decide to go the F.B.I. route let me know. I'll be happy to help you train for the academy."

The younger man looked at the agent with tears in his eyes and a smile painting his face. "Agent – uh Derek, I don't know how to thank you guys…you especially. I-I just can't tell you how much everything you've done for me has meant. I – "

"Hey, Spencer…don't worry about it. We know how you feel and there is no need to put it into words. Just go out there and live that dream you never thought was possible. That'll be thanks enough," Morgan said. "Oh and I meant what I said about helping you train. Don't you think twice about asking me. Deal?"

"Deal."

* * *

**Months Later**

Wesley snarled at the Neo-Nazi standing next to him in the lunch line as a warning to back off. He'd just been transferred this morning from his cushy stay at the white collar prison up the road to the large federal penitentiary. Apparently his lawyer hadn't been able to convince the prosecution that a man of his former stature needed to be shielded from all of the hardened criminals. So now here he was among the general population trying to keep his head down and not get recognized.

Thankfully the prisoner next to him took a step back and Wesley went back to waiting for the convict across the line to put some slop into the metal compartment on his tray. Once he got his food he shuffled off to the first table he saw that didn't have any occupants. The former police captain sat down on the bench seat and hunched over his food in an effort to protect it from any of the cons walking by. Once he felt safe enough he picked up the spork he'd grabbed with his tray at the start of the line and poked at the supposed meatloaf in front of him.

"Fucking kid," he mumbled at the sludge. "I'm going to fucking get out of here and make him pay for what he's done to me."

Suddenly his shoulder was jostled, causing him to drop his utensil and turn toward the source of the force. "What the fuck…" he trailed off upon seeing the large black man with his tattooed side-kick standing above him.

"What the hell do you want?" he sneered, putting on a brave front. Internally he cringed because he recognized the enormous con hovering over him. It was someone that he had put away on bogus murder charges a few years back.

"Well looky what we have here, Jonesy."

"Who, Tiny?"

"This is the cop I told you about. The one that sent me to this joint," the man nicknamed Tiny explained.

"Oh really? Well isn't that something," Jonesy jeered.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Wesley countered before turning back to his meal, hoping the man would walk away.

"Oh, I think you do, Captain Wesley," Tiny contradicted. The large man looked at his buddy, "Hey, you know what I heard about Bernie here from the guard?"

"What?"

"I heard he got his balls blasted off by his own son," Tiny informed his friend and the other people in his vicinity with a booming voice.

All eyes in the immediate area turned to listen closer to what was transpiring between one of the prison's fiercest inmates and the new guy.

Wesley, color draining from his face, kept his head down and attempted to chew a bite of food. Tiny, though, wasn't satisfied with his reaction so he laid his hand on the ex-cop's back and shoved him off his bench and down to the tiled floor.

"Well? Let's see if it's true!" he yelled to the audience that had suddenly formed around them.

There were a bunch of hoots and catcalls coming from the other men, provoking the large man on with his mission.

Before Wesley knew it he was on being held down to the floor by multiple convicts. Where were the guards?

Tiny stood over him laughing as Jonesy started ripping open Wesley's orange jumpsuit. Bernie shouted out threats and protests but no one paid him any mind. The former captain knew that his disfigured anatomy had been revealed when he heard the raucous laughter erupting around him. "Let me the fuck go before I fucking kill you!" he shouted in vain, knowing he was at the mercy of these men.

His captor chuckled out loud before looking around at the population surrounding them, "Looks like we've got ourselves a genuine bitch here, boys! Who wants to go first?"

* * *

*** - Paraphrased dialogue from season 3 episode 8 "Lucky"**

**** - Paraphrased dialogue from season 3 episode 6 "About Face"**

**A big THANK YOU to everyone that has supported this story. I really appreciated all of your reviews and encouragement. I am going to shift my focus to my other story now but I do have a few possible story lines for the future...so for those of you that aren't reading my medieval slash story "The Stolen King" I shouldn't be gone too long.**

**I look forward to seeing you again soon!**

**Take care!**


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